


Royals

by Kryzanna



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Arranged Marriage, M/M, royal au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 88,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2696048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryzanna/pseuds/Kryzanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one had ever told Imayoshi how dull being a king could be. He's bored stiff by the monotony of Touou's castle life; his daughter refuses to marry, and his nephew is always off god knows where, doing god knows what. The unexpected arrival of Kagami Taiga promises to stir things up...But no one could have anticipated just how much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the start of a new fic! I haven't started anything new for so long, so I thought I might give it a shot. Hopefully this helps me start writing a lot more, so, here we are; I hope you enjoy! Just a bit of an intro-chapter, so I hope you stick around for future ones! 
> 
> Warning: may contain coarse language, sexual references, yaoi and violence
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroko no Basket or any of its characters

 

It really was a rather dismal day for summer. Rather unfortunate, really, seeing how the kingdom of Touou was renowned for being almost overwhelmingly pleasant this time of year. More so unfortunate because the greying skies visible through the wide windows of the castle's throne room were having a wearying effect on its King.

The world looked like Imayoshi Shouichi currently felt. Tired, and quite frankly, rather bored. Holding court in times of peace was never a stimulating experience; it was all land, money, marriage and overly polite greetings from neighbouring kingdoms. Once upon a war, there might have been talk of traitors and executions and dark deeds in the corners of the kingdom; but those days were long gone, and all those exciting possibilities with them.

They never did tell you how bloody dull being a king could be.

These days, instead of dealing out punishments and hearing out crimes, he was handing out gold and listening to rich nobles bitch about how much land they thought they needed, and admittedly spending too much time musing over how he could best redecorate the throne room. Today was no exception, and he was finding himself most preoccupied with trying to figure out what exactly he disliked about the room's current colour scheme.

It was proving rather difficult, due to the fact that there was a distracting, extravagantly dressed man prancing about below the dais –most probably bleating about what Imayoshi considered his least favourite topic.

His only daughter's hand in marriage.

This man wasn't the first of the day, though he was admittedly the most pompous, and by far the  _least_  likely to convince the Crown Princess, Momoi Satsuki, that his son was a suitable match for her. Knowing that his daughter more than likely already had her rejection prepared for when the poor man drew breath, Imayoshi pushed away the urge to yawn and straightened his shoulders; he was at least well-bred enough to look like a king even when he didn't really feel like being one.

It took only a glance to confirm that his daughter was doing much better than himself at feigning interest in whatever the flashy nobleman had to say. She was the picture of elegance; a true beauty to behold, if Imayoshi did say so himself –though really, he felt he could take no credit seeing as she was the spitting image of her mother. Hands folded, bright pink eyes wide in apparent attentiveness –it was no wonder that the man wasn't shutting up; he seemed convinced that she was going to accept the match to his son.

But this man –or rather, the son he was so vibrantly describing –was no different from the rest of the dozens of suitors chasing after his daughter's hand. And so, Imayoshi knew with certainty that once again, his daughter's heart was going to be left unclaimed.

It was exhausting.

And as much as Imayoshi enjoyed seeing the looks of disappointment and frustration on their faces when Satsuki crushed their hopes for a queen as a daughter-in-law…there was only so much embellished flattery he could stomach.

The crowd though; they seemed to be lapping it up, though it was difficult to tell who was in support of this particular match, and who frankly didn't care as long as there was some kind of spectacle. It was quite a gathering today; it always was when Satsuki took audiences –Imayoshi could never quite fathom why she seemed more popular, though she seemed to have an idea or two why, that he didn't care to hear.

More interesting than the fellow below the dais, however, was that horrendous green monstrosity of a tapestry hanging from one of the back pillars. And ever more interesting than the thing itself was why on earth he'd allowed it to continue hanging there for so long.

But, distracted by the sudden urge to redecorate, or not, Imayoshi was still an ever-perceptive king; one didn't get to marry into the royal family without some wile, at least –and he was sharp enough to notice a familiar blond-haired officer lingering around one of the nearby side entrances to the throne room. Upon catching his king's gaze, he bowed his head slightly and fidgeted rather expectantly, as though waiting to be summoned over. Lightly rolling his eyes, Imayoshi beckoned gently with one thin finger, and the grave-faced soldier approached his throne –looking undeniably wearied himself…and a little irritated.

As soon as he was within earshot, Imayoshi let out as dramatic a sigh as he could get away with in front of such an audience.

"Oh,  _please_  tell me we're being attacked," he remarked in a low tone; doing nothing to disguise the boredom in his voice. And of course, as Wakamatsu stiffened, he belated remembered, once again, that when you are a king, your subordinates seem to take everything you say so seriously.

"Why would we be being attacked, your majesty?" Wakamatsu immediately growled, and Imayoshi had the overwhelming urge to flinch at how just slightly above whisper his voice always seemed to rise unnecessasily, "Should we be  _expecting_  an attack?" His right hand slowly drifted to his hip; gripping the hilt of his sword warily as though there was potential for a fight right upon the dais. "….Has someone made a threat?" Imayoshi was fast regretting ever trying to make the most of what had likely been about to be a very boring conversation.

"Lower your voice, Wakamatsu…"

" –It was that bastard Hanamiya, wasn't it?"

" _King_  Hanamiya, to you, Wakamatsu," Imayoshi sighed wearily, rubbing his forehead and pointedly ignoring what was likely a muffled snicker from the shadows behind his throne. He held out a hand to calm the guard, "…I was merely being melodramatic. Stand down; you'll cause a scene." He shook his head helplessly as Wakamatsu slowly relaxed once more, nodding shortly in acknowledgement that he understood that there was no immediate threat.

"…And besides…" Imayoshi snickered with a small, sly smile, "Hanamiya would never openly declare war –though he does send the most amusing letters." He chuckled to himself almost fondly, and rather enjoyed the look of bafflement that crossed Wakamatsu's face at the mere notion of the fabled King Hanamiya being  _amusing._

Glancing over his shoulder just slightly, he added, quite innocently, "In fact, have we heard from him recently, Midorima?"

There was definitely an element of tension to the silence that followed his question, highlighted by the resigned, mildly irritated way that his attendant replied from the shadows, "…Not since you last asked this morning, your majesty." If he had've been younger, and any less of a royal, Imayoshi might have snickered.

"Such a pity," he sighed instead; genuinely disappointed. He was about to return to his critique of the room when he realized that the blond guard must have been loitering in the hallway for some reason.

"Ah; now for business. How are we today, Wakamatsu?" he began; a second attempt at catching his attention. Wakamatsu too, seemed to have forgotten that he had come to the throne room with purpose, and appeared startled by the sudden resuming of conversation.

"It looks like a storm's coming, Your Majesty," he replied gruffly, with a quick glance towards the nearest window as if to provide evidence for his claim.

"…How perceptive of you," Imayoshi sighed dryly, "And I asked how  _you_  were, my good sir,  _not_  for a report on the weather." He glanced reproachfully up at his officer over his glasses, but didn't allow the man to stumble an apology before adding, "But a storm could do us some good. We could use a little excitement…" Almost as if it to prove his point, he found his attention abruptly drawn back to that particularly ugly piece of décor.

"…That really is the ugliest tapestry…Again, Wakamatsu; did you have some news?" He was fast growing tired of this, and he prayed that Satsuki would hurry up and send her newest suitor scurrying. "…Something exciting? Movement on the border perhaps? A royal escort?  _Anything_?"

"…Nothing like that, your majesty," Wakamatsu assured him flatly, obviously wondering if he was being mocked for his earlier misinterpretation. Imayoshi simply cocked an eyebrow expectantly. "Oh. We've just received word from the western kingdoms…."

" –Was it a letter, or our dear Second Captain's head in a sack?" Imayoshi inquired, his interest in the matter extinguished as soon as the soldier solemnly replied that it was the former. Good news was good news, he supposed, but rarely of note, these days. "Was that really all?"

"Oh, no, your majesty…" Wakamatsu muttered, irritation leaking into his voice and across his face –a sure giveaway as to what he was about to say.

"…You lost him again, didn't you?" Imayoshi spared him the indignity of having to admit to yet another humiliating defeat. He was vaguely aware of Satsuki speaking, and couldn't resist turning his attention to the somewhat deflating nobleman –there  _was_  something most satisfying about watching the way their faces always fought to remain respectful when they were obviously slighted.

"I don't understand how he keeps slipping away from us!" Wakamatsu growled through gritted teeth, and this time the king actually did flinch at the slight rise in volume. Brilliant swordsman his guard might be, but he really did lack a sense of delicacy.

"Did you check all his favourite spots?"

"Of course, your majesty," the soldier snorted flatly, with less-than-concealed irritation. "We can't find him." Imayoshi had the feeling that Wakamatsu definitely had a lot more to say on the matter but nothing of which was appropriate for present company. He sighed in resignation, eyeing the way that flashy nobleman was backing away from the dais with such disappointed bows –it seemed confirmed that his daughter's latest suitor was as an unsuccessful as the rest.

"It can't be helped," he shrugged dismissively, waving the guard away, "He'll come out when he's hungry or something, I'm sure." He was sure that he heard Wakamatsu's teeth grating together in frustration as he took his leave to join the ranks of the guards positioned around the throne room –ready to begin ushering out the crowd at the princess's word.

Finally, it seemed that the failed suitor had departed the throne room to nurse his ego, and of course, the murmurs started up on cue, rippling through the crowd and up into the balconies that overlooked the entire hall. Imayoshi took the time to roll his shoulders and let out a sigh of relief that attracted a most scathing look from his royal daughter.

"I take it you're not engaged yet?" Imayoshi inquired flatly, a single eyebrow raised in disapproval as he noted the way the nobles all began whispering amongst themselves upon the balconies. Somehow, (and he highly suspected the servant's grapevine), the nobles all seemed to know when a proposition to the princess was scheduled to occur, and liked to dress up in all their finery and observe, and frankly, judge. No doubt those whispers now were equal parts annoyed that once again they were being denied a royal wedding, and relieved that the princess was still available for courting.

Satsuki gave him a look; raised eyebrows and all, to remind him that they were still holding court, but took the time to quietly retort, "We've been through this, father." Yes, he was very much aware of that. She lifted her chin almost defiantly, smoothing out the creases of her gown before delicately folding her hands in her lap. "I will marry who I wish to marry."

"And who is that, might I ask?" Imayoshi inquired wearily; already knowing the answer. For a second, she gazed out towards the shifting crowd with that queenly smile of hers, and Imayoshi was almost convinced that she might not reply.

He was not so lucky.

"…The man I'm in love with," Satsuki finally answered, sticking her nose in the air and waiting patiently to see if any others stepped up to seek an audience with her. Imayoshi sighed and rubbed at a crease in his forehead as he heard the crowd fidgeting –it seemed as though the ever-darkening sky outside was causing them some concern.

"Well, would you kindly ask him to hurry along and seek your hand in marriage?" Imayoshi quietly grumbled as sarcastically as he dared, knowing full well that there was not currently –nor had there ever been –such a man.

He was beginning to wonder if she was refusing to marry just to spite him.

"Can't you just pick one?" he muttered, feeling an unpleasant sense of déjà vu, and knowing exactly how this would end. It was perhaps, unroyal of the pair of them to bicker in public, but the buzzing of the crowd easily drowned them out, and the audience at least forced them both to maintain a certain level of decorum. "How was your trip to Rakuzan? I hear Prince Akashi is…. _well-bred_ …?"

"Just because someone is well-bred doesn't mean I'll love them!" Satsuki huffed, allowing the smallest of pouts to reach her lips. " _You_  were well-bred, after all, father. And mother only settled for you."

"You're so unkind, sweet daughter," Imayoshi sighed mockingly; most unphased by her tone and playful insult, and once again reminded of why he found this ever-repetitive argument most grating. From somewhere behind him, he could practically hear his attendant –Midorima –rolling his eyes; the ever-present man had borne witness to as many of these arguments as the king himself, and enjoyed them about as much.

"I want to marry for love," the princess sighed wistfully, her eyes softening as she gazed out into some whimsical dream that Imayoshi could only shudder to imagine. All those childhood stories of fantastical romances had put all these silly ideals into her head, and were now proving  _most_  troublesome.

"Yes, yes, so you've said; many,  _many_  times…" he muttered with an eye roll of his own. "But could you perhaps hurry up about it? Frankly, you should already have been married by now–" Most princesses were at least  _betrothed_  by sixteen, and here she was; twenty-three and still refusing matches. " –And the noble houses are pushing for a royal wedding..."

"…Why does that have to be me?" she mumbled, sounding just a little forlorn, and then looking across the dais to the third throne that so oft sat embarrassingly empty. "I  _do_  have a cousin."

"Oh, do you?" Imayoshi remarked in his lightest tone; sarcasm only thinly veiled, "I'd completely forgotten, seeing as I haven't seen him in weeks." He huffed, looking over his shoulder innocently to see that his attendant was hovering in the shadows as faithfully and poised as ever. "What about you, Midorima? When was the last time you saw that useless nephew of mine?"

" –Don't call him that," Satsuki pouted, before the king's attendant could give an answer. Imayoshi couldn't resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"…It's a pet name," he assured her, though he doubted she believed him for a second. There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance and it seemed to make the crowd more restless. It appeared as though all those who had come to the castle on business had spoken already, so the princess elegantly rose to her feet to announce that that would be all for the day –and thus free her obviously bored father from his obligation to act interested.

Almost as if the thunder had heralded the clouds bursting, rain began to fall.

Imayoshi gazed lazily out the window, eyeing the way the sky had darkened over considerably. He was already looking forward to a hot bath, and removing the crown from his head –the ugly thing was making his neck ache. That was something they never told you about either –every man and his ancestors could tell you about the weight of responsibility that a crown brought, but no one ever thought to mention how damn  _heavy_  the thing was.

He was about to ask Midorima to fetch a servant to start filling a bath for him, but his attendant was first to speak, emerging from the shadows of the throne to bend so that his lips rested next to his king's ear.

"Your majesty," he murmured, a touch of ice gone from his low voice, but replaced with something else that made Imayoshi tense, without knowing why. He paused, listening intently for whatever news that the young man had received while he'd been distracted. How any of the servants were brave enough to come scuttling up to whisper Midorima's ear, he'd never know; even to a king he was an intimidating presence. But Midorima obviously knew how to use the servant grapevine to his advantage, and obviously this was important enough for them to overcome their wariness of the stony-faced attendant.

Thunder growled out through the blackening sky; rain pattering against the thick stone walls of the castle and when Midorima continued, it was in a low, distasteful tone.

"There are Kirisaki men outside."

"Kirisaki…" Imayoshi mused quietly, his brow creasing in polite surprise, "How many?"

"Fo – _five_ , I believe, your majesty." Midorima straightened, adjusting his glasses and nodding towards the huge oak door of the throne room. "…They claim to be here by order of their King." The young man might as well have spat the final word; his disdain was clear enough.

"Father?" Satsuki inquired warily, obviously concerned by the way Imayoshi straightened in his throne a little, allowing a small, sly smile to cross his face.

"Well, we can't have Hanamiya hearing we didn't make his men most welcome, can we?" he tittered playfully, "I doubt I'd hear the end of it."

"I was under the impression they  _weren't_  welcome here," Midorima sniffed flatly.

"Oh, they're not, but we best keep up appearances," Imayoshi replied –too lightly. But then his voice changed, to something that both his daughter and his attendant knew was a bad sign –a sign of trouble in the making.

"Send them in."

 

* * *

 

 

A hush descended upon the throne room.

It was the banner, perhaps, that washed the room in silence. It was strangely torn and muddied and obviously damp from the rain, but there was no mistaking the markings it bore –eight red eyes upon a dirty grey field –the standard of Kirisaki Daiichi; the banner of the cruel King Hanamiya Makoto.

Or perhaps it was the men that caused the breath to catch in the throats of those looking on. Four were soldiers –the foremost bearing the banner. They were in grey armour –or parts of it, at least; and what they still had was scuffed and bloodied and coated in fresh mud. As they shambled across the floor, water dripped from their clothes and mud fell in their wake, and the townsfolk shrank back from them –for the men of Kirisaki Daiichi were feared as much as their King.

They were an interesting four, Imayoshi had to admit. So few, to be so far from their kingdom, and so injured, too?

And then there was the fifth man. If the crowd was shrinking away from the Kirisaki soldiers, then their eyes were drawn to  _him_.

The muddiest and bloodiest of all five, he stumbled along in their centre –a prisoner, if the makeshift collar of rope tight about his throat was any indicator. It was that that the banner-man was yanking on to draw on him onwards, and though he was hunched over almost double, with every step Imayoshi spied a jaw clenching in pain. It was no wonder, really; the man's feet were bare and scraped and leaving prints of blood upon the stone.

"More light…" Satsuki murmured quietly, directed at Midorima; forgetting herself momentarily and letting a trace of unease slip into her voice. At a word, servants went scurrying along the walls, lighting torches and banging shutters closed to keep out the rain.

It was eerie, the unrest Kirisaki could bring to a room.

The soldiers drew to a halt when they reached the foot of the stairs leading up to the dais upon which Imayoshi and his daughter resided. Imayoshi recognised the banner-man now; Furuhashi, if he recalled correctly. He would know those dead eyes by any kind of firelight. Their prisoner stopped too; face hung low and concealed by shaggy, muddy hair. He lacked armour; lacked weaponry –looked as ragged as street rat, really, though there was a thickness to his shoulders and strength in his stance that seemed at odds with his appearance.

For what purpose would four military men drag him before a king?

"…You're a long way from home," Imayoshi cordially mused aloud, evenly meeting the flat-eyed gaze of the banner-man. All eyes turned to face the King of Touou, sitting now with such ease upon the throne and gazing down at the newcomers with practiced superiority.

"…Your Majesty, King Imayoshi. Princess Momoi," Furuhashi greeted stiffly, dipping his head with difficulty, as though the act of bowing physically pained him. "We bring greetings from King Hanamiya."

"So few of you," Imayoshi stated lightly –a tone easily read as mocking. His comment had a soft whisper of agreement rise up from the nobles watching from the balconies. "Should I be insulted that your King thinks so little of our friendship?"

"Begging your…. _pardon,_  your majesty," Furuhashi interjected flatly, "We were a large company, but we ran into trouble upon the river to the south. Many of our men may have been swept downstream."

"That river  _is_  prone to flash floods …" Imayoshi admitted with a small shrug, getting to his feet as his curiosity began to get the better of him. "And though I am sorry for the loss of your comrades, I must ask; greetings aside…For what, do my daughter and I owe the pleasure of your company?" He held out a hand to Satsuki, and felt her tentatively take it; rising from the throne and following him towards the stone steps.

Was it his imagination, or did those Kirisaki men just  _snicker_?

Furuhashi simply bowed stiffly once more, and gestured with one hand towards the prisoner, as if this was all the explanation necessary. He stepped aside as Imayoshi descended the steps, growing more suspicious and ever more intrigued. These men had hastened to the castle without a care for their company; what was so important about their task? If this was some kind of trap –and it would not be unlike Hanamiya to be laying traps –it seemed inelegant.

"Hmm…" he hummed, wondering if he should be insulted. He glanced down towards the prisoner; still hanging his head and either unable or refusing to meet his gaze. "…And who might this delightful creature be?"

There was silence in the throne room, broken only by an ominous toll of thunder. Imayoshi raised an eyebrow expectantly at the banner-man, as though waiting for at least  _someone_ to answer him. Instead of doing so, however, Furuhashi simply gave a violent yank on the rope he was holding, sending the man toppling face-first to the stone ground with a deep, choking cry. A gasp of shock ran through the frozen crowd, and the prisoner twitched on the stones, struggling to draw in breath. Even Satsuki, standing a pace behind him, flinched at the cruel display.

"And how is he supposed to answer me now?" Imayoshi remarked lightly, his eyes narrowing. "Cut him free."

"Your majesty; he's dangerous…"

" –Begging the question why you've brought him to me," he interrupted, his voice laced with ice that allowed for no argument. He was a king, and he didn't trust anything that had root in Kirisaki. "Cut him free."

There was a brief pause in which the four soldiers exchanged eye contact as though considering refusing a direct order. But then one of them stepped forwards, dirty knife in hand, and severed the ropes binding the prisoner's throat and wrists. For a moment, he just lay there on the stone, shoulders heaving as he drank in deep gulps of air and wrestled his arms to his sides.

With sudden, astonishing speed, the prisoner lashed out; lunging on injured limbs for the knife that had been used to free him. The crowd recoiled, and it's princess with it, but Imayoshi watched; transfixed, at the powerful arm that reached out with purpose. He stared at the way that hand twisted the Kirisaki soldier's wrist until the blade clattered to the floor –watched as the prisoner desperately scrambled to his feet, only to stumble with a cry of pain as his own bleeding soles finally betrayed him.

And even as one of the Kirisaki men kicked him to his knees; even as one of them brought the heavy hilt of a blade down on his hand and forced him to yield the stolen weapon, Imayoshi caught a flash of brilliant red eyes peering out from under that matted hair. Red eyes that glimmered in the torchlight; red eyes burning with a kind of life that had never been birthed by Kirisaki Daiichi.

The boots that the soldiers were must have been heavy, and the kicks none too kind, but the prisoner didn't cry out. He'd managed only a moment on his feet and now he was back on his knees; head bowed and hands planted into the ground; shaking but refusing to give out.

"Speak," Imayoshi commanded casually, sounding much as though it were a suggestion, "Or have they cut your tongue out?" The whispers were starting again now, and he could hazard some of what they might say. More cruel things about Kirisaki, most likely –not that King Hanamiya needed any more of those to make foreigners wary of his kingdom. But it seemed that the crowd too, commonfolk and noble alike, were just as eager as Imayoshi to know who this man was.

The man's chest heaved, and his fists clenched against the stone. Slowly –making no further move to attack, he levered himself up until he was resting on his knees; head cast to the floor. And Imayoshi knew that those eyes were glaring holes through even the solid rock.

It was a hoarse whisper –a thick, raspy growl, but Imayoshi heard it, just as his daughter had heard it. And Imayoshi couldn't help but feel an impressed smirk spread across his face as he understood.

"Kagami...Taiga," the man wheezed, and then let out one shuddering breath to steady his voice to repeat –much stronger, this time, "…My name is Kagami Taiga."

It was Satsuki who broke the silence that followed.

"Kagami Taiga?" she whispered, almost in disbelief, slowly moving down the stairs to stand beside her father. Even then, she had to look up at him in confirmation, "…The prince?"

"He's no prince, your majesty," one of Furuhashi's men snickered, a snide smirk plastered across his face, apparently unable to resist delivering a kick in the ribs to his motionless charge.

"He is," Imayoshi corrected softly, rubbing his chin mostly to conceal his smile from his daughter. Oh, Hanamiya played a very good game, didn't he? It really was  _so_  inappropriate to laugh now but really, he had to give the man some credit… He truly never could have imagined this. "...And I must ask; is he the sole reason that your King sent you here?"

"Making sure he was delivered to you was his only order, your majesty," Furuhashi answered, giving Imayoshi all the confirmation he required. Putting on his most polite smile, he beckoned for Wakamatsu to come forwards, whilst tutting most condescendingly to the Kirisaki men.

" –And  _this_  is your king's idea of a formal escort?" he remarked mockingly; gesturing at the ropes, "Although I suppose King Hanamiya didn't see any need in asking that the young prince be delivered unharmed?"

"He tried to escape," Furuhashi answered flatly.

" –And I can't think why," Imayoshi replied just as flatly.

"He tried to kill us."

"And  _again_ , I can't for the life of me think why he would want to do such a thing," he tittered; his voice light but his eyes sharp –he'd noticed the bruises and the cuts and way the skin on this  _Kagami_ 's wrists was rubbed raw. "…He did put up quite the fight though, it would seem –did he  _bite_  your finger off?" he added, addressing the snide-smirked man with grey hair –the one nursing a bandaged hand that appeared to be missing a finger. The smirk faded.

"No, your majesty. That was…something else."

"Hmm," Imayoshi rumbled as Wakamatsu fidgeted at his side –warily eyeing the man still panting on his knees, "It's strange, but you really do hear a lot about Kirisaki men missing fingers. One day I'm really going to have to puzzle that out, you know." He could tell that Satsuki was curious and full of questions, but restricting herself to simply staring down at the prince who had been dragged to her castle like some kind of condemned wretch.

"Wakamatsu," Imayoshi remarked, almost cheerfully –something that had his officer looking almost insultingly concerned, "Would you please find my lovely nephew?" He was greeted with a raised eyebrow in response.

"…Are you actually talking about the prince?" Wakamatsu deadpanned, "…Or do you have another nephew I should be searching for?"

" _Find Aomine_ ," Imayoshi ordered once more –embellishments pushed aside. He ignored the aggrieved, 'not again' look the soldier gave him.

"Even if I find him, he won't come," the blond warned him, and then seemed to think of something else he could add, and thought better of it.

"Tell him I have a surprise for him," the king tittered condescendingly, his brow hardening when he heard a soft, shocked intake of breath from his daughter and a quiet murmur rise from the balconies, "That usually gets his attention." Wakamatsu nodded disgruntledly and abruptly turned, signalling to some of his men to join in the hunt. Imayoshi was about to readdress the Kirisaki men, when he felt Satsuki's hand upon his arm; gripping far tighter than was polite.

"You're not…seriously going to do what I think you are?" she whispered, and Imayoshi was forced to look down into those bright pink eyes suddenly laced with a spark of fear. The hand on him tightened, and her brow creased; pleading against it. "You can't do that, father…look at him!" Her voice was but a soft whisper, and she turned to look at the man on the floor.

"Look at him. He's…" Even she, with all the intelligence of a noble schooling, didn't have the words to describe how this prince looked. And it was true; he was unkempt and dressed like a street rat; covered in blood and bruises and was kneeling in a most hangdog expression…but Satsuki hadn't seen those eyes.

"…I don't want…your pity…" he suddenly growled; drawing all eyes back to him. "If you've brought me here to kill me, then just do it." Imayoshi sort of wished he was still sitting so that he could have the joy of resting chin in a hand as he surveyed this young man. There was something almost admirable about stupidly  _defiant_ he seemed to think he was being.

"Kill you?" Imayoshi scoffed, allowing himself a small laugh as though the notion were absurd, "What use is there in killing you, hmm?

"I have something much worse in mind."

" _Father_!"

"Satsuki, please," Imayoshi tutted, adjusting his glasses and beckoning over several of the closest guards as Kagami's hands clenched into fists at his sides. But there was a room of guards, and he had just shown that in the state he was in, he was in no state to be fighting his way free of anyone. "You're causing a scene –ahh, Susa, excellent –" He was glad to see his faithful Third Captain among those that had approached to offer their assistance. " –These men are our guests, and we must repay King Hanamiya's... _generosity_. Ensure they are made welcome and treated accordingly. They must be tired."  **  
**

"We thank you, for your hospitality, your majesty," Furuhashi rumbled, sounding somewhat like clockwork.

"Of course," Imayoshi replied, though his tone wasn't entirely pleasant, "Shall I send out a search party to retrieve any survivors of your company?"

"No need," Furuhashi assured him blandly, "If they survived the flooding river, then they will regroup and make camp to await news of our mission's success."

"Out in this weather?" Imayoshi raised an eyebrow. What luck, to survive a near-drowning, only to linger out in the wind and rain.

"Trust me, your majesty, when I say that my men have dealt with far worse."

Imayoshi was glad to see the backs of the Kirisaki men –especially under guard. He hadn't exactly given the order to keep a sharp eye on them while they were in the castle, but it seemed that sort of thing went unsaid when it came to men serving Hanamiya Makoto. It was rude for them to not offer their names, or a message from their king, but the man –Kagami –he had served as message enough.

Hearing sighs of relief and hushed whispers strike up as the ominous aura of the Kirisaki men began to depart from the throne room, Imayoshi caught Susa's attention once more, ordering him to take Kagami far from the Kirisaki men. The ragged man was in desperate need of a bath and medical treatment, and he too, was technically a guest.

"What if he tries to run?" Susa inquired of him, eyeing Kagami's back as he was escorted from the room. There was still undeniable tenseness in his shoulders, and a tentativeness in the way he limped after the men warily leading him. Obviously Susa didn't put it past him to try and make a break for it, despite the air of bitter resignation hanging about him.

"...Then catch him, obviously," Imayoshi sighed, as though that were completely obvious, "Though I'd be questioning how he managed to escape you in the first place; did you  _see_  the state he was in?"

Normality was slowly resuming; the guards that remained returning to ushering the townsfolk from the throne room. The nobles were at their infernal whispering again; questioning what their king was thinking in having dealings with King Hanamiya; wondering if they'd heard correctly –if that dirty man was indeed a prince, and if so;  _what was he doing here_? But they too were finally dispersing –the excitement done for, for the meantime.

"Well this has been  _most_  riveting, I must say," Imayoshi tittered, mostly to Midorima as he too, began slowly making his way towards one of the exits –that bath was just calling to him, and he had some definite plans to lay and a response to prepare for Hanamiya.

Now, out in the corridors, he was catching sight of shadows shifting through the hallways –servants all scurrying about doing their duties and trying to avoid getting underfoot. His attendant had easily dropped in behind him, but it seemed as though there was someone else still intent on pursuing him.

"Father!" Satsuki's voice called out crossly from somewhere behind him and he drew to a halt with a sigh –ignoring the snicker that Midorima provided from a few steps behind him.

"What is it, sweet daughter?" he inquired innocently, turning to see her striding down the corridor with a firm frown to her brow. Servants ducked aside, shyly dropping their gazes as she swept past.

" –Do not ' _sweet daughter'_  me," she sniffed, "A  _surprise_  for my cousin? Father, the whole castle knows what that means!"

"Your point being?

"Did you see that man? He's not like the others you've gifted to Aomine-kun," she murmured softly, shaking her head and clutching her hands together tightly, "…To make him do such things would seem…degrading."

"Did  _you_  see that man?" Imayoshi retorted flatly; obviously startling her with his tone, "You know his story. He has been held by Kirisaki Daiichi for years –I'm sure he's already well acquainted with all that is degrading and humiliating. Hanamiya would have made sure of it –he hated his uncle, and his family, after all…" Though he hated to admit it, he found his own voice softening –but Satsuki obviously didn't hear it, as her lower lip trembled in a disappointed, most un-queenly fashion. It was the kind of rare expression she wore when she looked to him not as her king but as her father.

"I can't believe you'd be so cruel."

A swish of her long, pink hair, and she was sweeping off down the hallway –storming off with such dignity, too; her dress trailing after, and young maids scuttling to pick up the train to keep it off the stone floor. Imayoshi watched her leave with a most wearied sigh.

"It seems that Princess Momoi does not approve," Midorima remarked coolly from a few paces behind him.

"Oh, whatever gave you that impression?" Imayoshi remarked sarcastically, gazing around the hallway at the servants who were steadily darting about. No doubt that they all had their ears wide open –the servants always did but liked to pretend they didn't. If one believed the whispers, it was said that the servants of Touou knew all that went on within its walls. There was always someone listening. "...In any case," he added, almost innocently, as he began to continue off towards his chambers. "Satsuki shouldn't just go leaping to conclusions like that."

For a heavy moment there, Imayoshi failed to hear Midorima's familiar footsteps trailing after him, and when he looked back, he saw it was because his attendant was rooted to the spot; eyes narrowing suspiciously behind his glasses. He was an imposing figure; tall, stern-faced and proud, much like his father, and still so young to be wearing such a disdainful expression. Sometimes it was hard to remember that this man was the same age as his sweet daughter.

"Your majesty…" Midorima suddenly remarked, his suspicion evident in his voice, as though he was trying to piece together exactly what his king was implying. He'd been in the king's service for long enough to be most wary when Imayoshi acted his most innocent; especially when it came to his daughter and nephew. It would never get back to the king, of course, but sometimes the servants whispered that he, and Hanamiya were of the same cut and mould. "If I might ask…Aomine…isn't going to like this surprise, is he?" Imayoshi couldn't help but chuckle to himself –likely doing nothing but making his attendant ever more concerned.

"Oh," he snickered slyly, his lips curling up into a small, quiet grin, "…A lot of people are not going to like this." He could feel disapproval radiating from the young man behind him, and took the time to give him what he felt was a most reassuring smile. From the way Midorima adjusted his glasses and deepened his reproachful scowl, it had not had the desired effect.

"Well, if you must know," he continued with a small shrug, deliberately letting his voice lighten and carry slightly. There was no point in keeping secrets, in any case. What fun was there to be found in that?"Satsuki has made incorrect assumptions about my plans for Prince Kagami." He heard Midorima's footsteps slow; intrigued. Imayoshi's smirk widened –was that the quiet gasp of gossiping servant he could hear?

"It's not my intention to have him service our dear Aomine."

Somewhere outside, thunder rumbled ominously. Imayoshi chuckled to himself as he glanced over his shoulder and caught Midorima staring at him with an expression that seemed most quizzical. The king couldn't help it; he really couldn't –not when this turn of events promised to make things ever so interesting. Let the servants talk; let them whisper.

All the better.

"He's here to marry him."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the introduction to the kingdom of Touou! I'm looking forward to see where this fic goes, so leave a review if you're interested, and we'll get this thing moving; and that includes learning more about this Kagami, and meeting an elusive prince Aomine.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Much love,  
> xx K


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to get this going, so here's the next chapter! A couple of familiar faces will start to pop up from now on, too! Enjoy.

Kagami Taiga was no stranger to nightmares. In a kingdom where every shadow had a face, such things were unavoidable. They felt almost real, too –he always could feel the warm, stinking breath of each monster; the sting of a blade piercing his flesh; the crawling touch of every hand upon his skin. And he would pry himself from every restless sleep to wake in cold darkness and wonder if he was in fact, still dreaming.

He always hoped he wasn't –the monsters of reality were tangible. They could be fought and overcome and resisted. But those that plagued his sleep, they kept on coming and coming, and tormenting him at every turn; in every form. Truly, up until just now, he'd thought he'd faced every kind of nightmare to haunt his dreaming mind.

But he was wrong, and perhaps this was the cruellest of them all –a dream he couldn't find it in his heart to wake from.

In this one, his room, if it could ever have been called his, was vivid and changed. This room was dry and warm, and he could even feel the soft touch of sunlight trickling in through an open window. Gone was the dripping of water down the stone walls; gone with the dank smell of mould and air gone foul. There was a kind of unfamiliar softness beneath his cheek; something that smelled faintly earthy and tickled his skin. He didn't want to wake from this; didn't want to open his eyes to feel the warmth grow stale; to feel the sunlight fade and find that the soft furs had turned back to dirty, creaking wood.

Distantly, his dozing mind could hear the friendly crackle of a fire burning low, and the hushed footsteps of servants pattering about. Someone was humming –a song he hadn't heard in a long time. It was faint; nothing more than a blurry memory, but he was sure he knew the tune. It sounded like a distant summer –somewhere far beyond the dark castle walls that he knew lay beyond this dreaming world.

But as much as he didn't want to, he knew he should get up. They'd be coming for him soon, and who knew what would happen if they found him still locked in sleep. It was that that forced his body to move, as it had for years now, trying to draw him from slumber. But somehow, his body felt so sluggish today; it felt sleepy and lazy, and everything seemed to ache with a kind of dull pain.

But that sort of thing wasn't foreign to him, and he knew that it wouldn't serve as any kind of excuse, so he ignored the pounding of his head and the groaning of his limbs as he struggled to drag himself awake.

He waited for it to all start fading. It always did. Whatever forest, or mountain, or marsh or dungeon his subconscious found itself in, this was when that, and all the sensations the nightmare conjured, would all start withering. This was when his eyes would flicker open and adjust to reality, and he would find that he was back in that dirty, dark room, to face the waking kind of nightmare.

Red eyes slowly flickered open, but instead of waking to darkness, he was greeted with intense, bright light that made his eyes water and his vision blur. He couldn't help but cringe; his wrists stinging as he brought a bandaged hand to his face to shield his eyes. Everything was blurring, like he'd expected; but it wasn't changing –wasn't fading at all. That was real, warm sunlight on his face, and there was a soft mattress underneath him.

…Not a dream?

The humming was getting clearer now, and as Kagami's vision began to clear, he became dimly aware that there was someone in this strange room with him. His eyelids fluttered in confusion, still not entirely certain that he could believe what he was seeing, but no matter how many times he blinked or rubbed his eyes, there was no denying that this certainly wasn't Kirisaki Daiichi.

It was the light that convinced him most. Somehow, it had always felt so dark in Kirisaki.

Slowly, he peered down at his bandaged hands and inspected them, turning them over and feeling the cloth rub against the raw skin of his wrists. His throat stung with the same rawness, and he could see cuts and bruises riddling his dirty arms. He stared at them for a moment, hazy memories suddenly pouring back to him; the memory of being taken in the dead of night and gagged even before he'd woken, the ache of being shoved upon horseback like some kind of baggage; the sound of soldiers snickering amongst themselves…and then water –so much water; filling his lungs and threatening to bog him down… And then the unfamiliar faces of a strange king and a beautiful princess…

So that hadn't just been a nightmare.

"Ahh, so you're finally awake."

Someone was speaking. It was a light-hearted voice –a man –and it forced Kagami's gaze to shift from his hands, up to settle on a dark-haired figure hovering across the other side of the room, apparently inspecting the contents of a large tub. As if feeling eyes upon him, he glanced up, hoisting an empty bucket aloft as he did so.

"You know, I was starting to wonder if they'd hit you too hard," the man remarked, almost conversationally as he traipsed past with his burden. There was a water pump on the other side of the room that he seemed to be making for. "…Gods, rooms like this are so inconvenient for us servants," he added, with a sigh of complaint, "Having to lug water across the room? Do you know how long it takes to fill a bath like that?" It was a good thing he didn't seem to be expecting an answer, because Kagami was too thrown by the man's nonchalance to offer one. Brow furrowing in confusion, he watched this man –a servant, if his complaints were to be believed –start working the pump until his bucket was filled to the brim with water.

He had black hair, dusted with the same ashes or dirt or something that seemed to be clinging to his grey tunic. Even partly still in a daze, Kagami could pick out that he didn't seem to be armed –not a Kirisaki man, for certain; the servants there all wore black and wore weapons like accessories. At first glance, he didn't seem to be a threat, but Kagami had a certain kind of instinct when it came to people…and though he couldn't explain it, something about this guy made him uneasy.

"Where am I?" Kagami inquired warily; wondering if the guy would answer. It couldn't hurt to know at least that much, especially with his head throbbing as it was...

"Infirmary, m'lord," the man replied simply, as he began hauling the bucket back across the room towards the tub. He turned briefly to glance at Kagami, propped up in bed and a little disoriented, and the redhead caught a flash of piercing grey eyes before the servant returned to his task, "That's generally where people get taken when they get knocked unconscious by half a dozen guards."

"Knocked unconscious…" Kagami muttered distantly, reached up to his pounding head and wincing when his fingertips brushed against the texture of dried blood. There was a thunderous splash as the bucket's contents were unceremoniously dumped into the tub, and the sound did nothing to soothe his headache. "Someone hit me?"

"Yup," the man replied, looking dissatisfied with his handiwork and tutting disapprovingly, "I mean,  _yes_ , m'lord. A few times, actually. I don't know why you thought it was a good idea to try and run…"

It hadn't been a good idea; hadn't been a smart idea at all, really. But Kagami remembered a kind of anger welling up in him as he was shepherded down a strange hallway by men he didn't recognise. When, by some miracle, he'd escaped the raging floodwaters, he'd thought that that was his chance to flee. He'd thought that the men that had dragged him out to god-knows-where were all dead, and he was finally free from them. But of course, the worst of them had survived, and though he'd tried to beat them back, before he knew it, he was being kicked to the dirt all over again, and collared like some kind of animal. For a moment, kneeling before a new king, though, he'd had hope. And then he'd realised that he had just been  _handed over_  like property.

Of course he'd tried to run.

"Tch…" Kagami scoffed bitterly, gritting his teeth, "What was I supposed to do? I didn't know what they were going to do to me…" He threw back the blankets weighing him down and his face curled up in disdain at the sight of his muddy, torn clothes –although someone had at least had the courtesy to bind the cuts on his feet. His legs had definitely seen better days too. The pump started creaking again.

"Wait," the man snickered in disbelief, "You're telling me you don't know why you're here?"

"Like that bastard Hanamiya would tell me anything," Kagami growled, clenching his fists angrily and being satisfied with the strength he seemed to have regained somewhat. He wondered where this room was –was it high up? His limbs were cramped and aching but he knew they could take more of a battering if necessary. The servant looked small –he was sure he could easily overwhelm him, and the door didn't look to be locked. Would there be a guard?

To hell if there was. There was no way he was sitting around here long enough to find out what these fucking kings had planned for him, especially if Hanamiya was involved. He clenched his jaw angrily. He wasn't about to have this place be Kirisaki all over again.

"…And the guy with the crown said he was gonna do worse than kill me…"

The man had the gall to  _laugh_.

Red eyes flashed angrily, and he glared up at the servant who was leaning on the water pump and wiping away an imaginary tear of mirth. Such a look didn't seem to phase him in the slightest.

"Well, I guess that's one way of looking at it, m'lord," he chuckled, trying to stifle his laughter against a hand as he began lugging the brimming bucket back towards the tub, "And, if you're thinking about going for the window, we're three floors up and it's a stone courtyard down there." Kagami averted his eyes with a mumbled curse; had his thoughts really been so transparent? "Also," the servant added, with a sidelong glance, "For the record, the 'guy with the crown' is King Imayoshi, of Touou."

Kagami blinked.  _Touou? Where the fuck was Touou?_

Apparently he didn't hide his mystification all that well, because the guy was snickering at him again!

"You have no idea where you are, do you, m'lord?" he snorted, shaking his head incredulously and causing Kagami to feel a surge of annoyance rise with a new throb of pain in his head. "Wait, wait, let me get this straight…you have no idea where you are, or why you're here, and you still tried to make a break for it?"

"It's better than being locked up," Kagami muttered, and was suddenly struck by the fact that he had no idea who this man was, and that he seemed to be mocking him. "Anyway, who the hell are you? What do  _you_  know?"

"Hmm?" the servant remarked innocently, though Kagami distrusted how his tone seemed so different from the sharpness of his eyes, "Me? I'm just a servant, m'lord. And we know everything." Kagami just glared at him darkly –what kind of a fucking answer was that? Almost as if sensing his annoyance, the man laughed airily, once more.

"Takao Kazunari," he introduced, finally, "At your service." There was a heavy thunk as he rested his full bucket on the rim of the tub.

" _What_  are you doing?" Kagami grumbled, finally getting irritated by the other man's constant pacing across the room. He swung his legs down off the bed and tested them tentatively on the stone floor. His feet stung, and his calves didn't seem to want to take his weight, but he'd make them. Meanwhile, Takao had frozen, mid-way through emptying his bucket. He seemed to not understand the question; eyes moving from the bucket, to tub, and then back to Kagami in disbelief.

"I'm uhh…preparing a  _bath_ …m'lord," he replied with a slight chuckle, as though it should be obvious, an eyebrow raised in such a way that Kagami again felt as though he was being made fun of. This Takao was taking him lightly; probably thinking that because he looked injured, he was beyond moving.

"Why are you calling me that?" he growled flatly, dusting some dried mud off his pants and seeing yet another rip that had been caked shut. The empty bucket clattered to the floor.

"Calling you what, m'lord?" His tone was innocent and undeniably mocking.

" _That_. I'm no lord."

"What would you prefer me call you?" Takao seemed to be enjoying this, "Your Highness? Your Grace?  _Sir_? Prince Kagami? You are a prince, after all."

"I'm not a prince," Kagami scoffed automatically, his jaw clenching and a lump threatening to rise in his throat.

"Well, you're probably the first prince to ever say that, m'lord."

"Don't call me that."

"…You're also probably the first prince to ever say that, too," Takao remarked playfully, a teasing note slipping into his voice and causing a vein to twitch in Kagami's forehead. What was this guy's problem? There was definitely something about him that made him a little uneasy.

His legs burned as he shifted his weight onto them and managed to stand, even if he swayed a little. He hadn't felt this battered in a long time, but he was sure running wouldn't be an issue. The only real issue seemed to be that Takao, who seemed to be inexplicably hovering between him and the door. He didn't seem to be doing anything out of the ordinary –just mopping up some of the water he'd spilled in his trips between the water pump and the tub. He was humming again –that song that Kagami swore he knew.

He appeared to be paying him no mind; the mop moving to and fro to the tune of the song. Kagami began limping forwards, each step growing steadier, as he was accustomed to. He could go for the door, but he had no doubt that if he didn't make pains to keep this guy quiet, he'd be crowing his head off at the first sign that he was trying to make an escape. But he was in luck it seemed; the servant was making the terrible mistake of turning his back.

If he could just….

" _Fuck_!" Kagami swore, champing his teeth down hard, his eyes watering in pain as the blunt end of the mop abruptly connected with his gut; driving in much harder than he'd expected and winding him. He doubled over with a gasp, his abdomen obviously more tender and bruised than he'd anticipated. "What the fuck –"

"Oh, I'm sorry; I didn't see you there," Takao inquired lightly, drawing the mop back and glancing over his shoulder. "How clumsy of me. But you really shouldn't be out of bed." His expression was almost apologetic, and Kagami  _might_  have bought it, had the bottom half of the mop not suddenly connected with a particularly tender patch of shin.

" _That was on purpose_!" He growled aggressively, lunging forwards and aiming to snatch the servant up by the collar of his tunic. But the man was faster than he'd expected, and side stepped him so expertly that it seemed almost accidental that he'd avoided capture.

"Of course not," Takao assured him, apparently aghast by the accusation, "I'm but a humble servant, after all –I just do what I'm told." And yet, he was still shifting in a manner that Kagami was finding most suspicious. There was something in his eyes, too –a kind of sharpness that he'd seen in the faces of some of the servants at Kirisaki, and distrusted.

"And what if I told you to let me leave?" Kagami inquired darkly; eyeing up the mop that the servant was holding lightly in one hand. He was slippery, but he figured it wouldn't be difficult to physically overpower him.

For a moment, Takao seemed to seriously consider his question; his face curled up into a most thoughtful expression. And then, much faster, and with more force than Kagami could ever have expected of this man, the mop connected with the bruised side of his knee. It wasn't the worst blunt pain he'd ever dealt with, but all the same, his knee buckled against his will and he stumbled.

"I'm afraid I couldn't do such a thing…" came the light hearted, almost genuinely apologetic reply, as Kagami staggered, off balance.

" –I-is this how you treat a-all princes?" Kagami groaned through gritted teeth, trying to lunge forwards again but his knee deciding against co-operating and buckling again as a prickling sensation coursed up his leg. And then suddenly, he was off balance again; force against his chest sending him reeling backwards. His weakened knee refused to take his weight as he tried to steady himself, and he suddenly felt himself falling –realising too late that the backs of his thighs had connected with the edge of the tub.

"Well, you did say you weren't a prince, didn't you?"

Eyes clamped shut in trepidation, Kagami tensed, waiting for that breath-stealing impact.

The splash he made as he disappeared under the water was astounding. Within an instant, it grew murky; dried mud and blood being torn off Kagami's body and clothes as the water rose up and spilled over the lip of the tub. And after a long moment of being submerged, he broke the surface with a startled gasp.

In all his years as a servant, Takao Kazunari could honestly say that he had never seen a grown man looking so bewildered. Rumours circulating through the servant grapevine had piqued his interest about what kind of man Touou's newest guest was, so he'd been prepared for retaliation to his somewhat wicked methods, or worse…but it didn't seem like any kind of expected violence was forthcoming.

This Kagami man, he was just sitting there; his eyes wide and confused and staring down into the dirtying water almost in disbelief. Takao cocked his head inquisitively, observing the way he cupped his hands and splashed some up into his face. Apparently that had confirmed something, because he looked up and caught Takao's gaze, almost as though there was something about the concept of a bath he didn't quite understand.

"…It's warm?" he queried hoarsely, soft with wonder. Takao was helpless to stop one of his eyebrows from quirking up in amusement.

"Of course it's warm," he confirmed; why the hell wouldn't it be? "Why would I prepare you a cold bath?" For a moment, he could've sworn there was something hangdog in Kagami's expression, but it was gone in an instant; hidden behind a furrowed brow and stern red eyes. He looked torn between lingering in the tub and leaping out and throttling the servant that had put him there, which Takao was man enough to admit was justified. Sure, he could've just asked him to get in the bath, but who said he would've? Especially since he'd been rather obviously sizing up his odds of escaping. 

"Oh, just relax, will you?" Takao sighed with a roll of his eyes, to try and shepherd him towards the option that wouldn't result in his bodily harm, "Get that filth off you, maybe? I went to the trouble of preparing the bath, you might as well make the most of it." His exasperation quickly turned to amusement as Kagami ran a hand through his drenched hair and grimaced as his hand came away running with mud. "…I'd help…but I feel like you might try and drown me."

It kind of looked like Kagami didn't see that as a half bad idea. But it seemed as though this strange novelty of a warm bath had won out, because his shoulders sagged as he plunged his head down under the water again. Takao leaned heavily on his mop, watching as Kagami's clothes billowed out below the surface, being rinsed of their grime. And as he watched him scrubbing at his hair, the servant couldn't help but be a little bit startled as the dirt washed away to reveal a mane of shocking red hair. Who would've guessed? How many layers of mud had that guy been carrying?? 

Again, Kagami broke the surface, breathing the air in deeply and tossing his wet locks. He was a scary man, Takao had to admit; at least while he was awake. Asleep, he looked smaller, more vulnerable, though he'd realised quite a while ago that that was true for most soldiers, too. In this bath though, he looked a little more docile, even if not quite at ease. He didn't blame him though; getting half-drowned, dragged to a new kingdom and then knocked out rather forcefully wasn't a recipe for a happy prince. He was in need of a haircut, maybe a shave, and probably some soap, but he was even already looking considerably less like a vagabond, though the guy kept peering at his skin as though it was the first time he'd really seen it in a long time.

It really made you wonder.

He'd been quick to recover, too. Takao had gotten a glance at those mottling bruises when he'd been cleaning and tending to the worst of the injuries during Kagami's bout of unconsciousness, and he was pretty sure that they would have had a lot of men groaning and aching. But this guy...he'd gotten to his feet almost like it was nothing; might have even been able to  _catch_  him, had he been any less wounded. 

"I'll get some new clothes sent in for you," he commented politely, "Jeez, I know beggars dressed better than you." Kagami glanced his way and seemed angered by the insult, but at least didn't seem like he was about to come jumping out of the bath. Those cuts looked like they stung, and at least he acknowledged that they all needed a decent clean. 

Ahh, he did feel a little bad for probably aggravating those injuries…but maybe now the guy would at least think twice about trying to get the jump on him the next time he tried to escape.

And Takao had the feeling there was definitely going to be a next time.

 

* * *

 

Imayoshi wasn't exactly sure whether he should be impressed or concerned how quickly rumour spread through the castle. On one hand, it did prove that the servants could be incurable gossips –which really did beg the question of how much they knew but never let on –but on the other hand…he had never considered just how effective they were at transmitting information, though he'd discovered quite quickly that wherever there was hearsay, there were bound to be a dozen versions of it.

Right now, however, he was starting to wish that the wildfire whispers had spread just a little slower. Two days – _less than two days_  –and already the murmurings of the servants had found their way to the ears of the noble houses. How on earth that had happened was rather beyond his comprehension –most nobles would be appalled by their underlings running their mouths and chattering idly –but they too undoubtedly craved scandal.

And here he'd been looking forward to a good few days of sitting back and watching the rumour mill churn; hoping to see some ripples of misinformation stir them all up…

Well, he'd definitely succeeded in stirring them up, at least, to the point where they really seemed quite set on interrupting an otherwise relatively pleasant morning. He had been rather popular with audiences today, in fact, popular meaning that he had been visited by the heads of  _several_  noble families, all with  _very_ strong opinions on the matter…

"Midorima, what was it that Lord Kise was saying just then?" Imayoshi mused while pouring over the wording of a letter he was required to send. "I've grown far too used to dismissing him that I can hardly start listening to him now." It had been rather rude of him to send the Kirisaki soldiers off home without an accompanying letter, but Hanamiya had seen fit to do much the same thing –not to mention, Imayoshi had wanted those men gone from his land.

Nonetheless, courtesy dictated that he should probably at least  _send_  a message.

"… ' _A most outrageous farce to have a noble prince marry a beastly beggar –and another man, at that_ '," Midorima quoted back at him dryly, coolly eyeing the back of the elegantly dressed nobleman who was making quite a show of storming out, "Among other things."

" –A  _beggar_ ," Imayoshi tutted, feigning incredulousness as he debated over whether it was too early to start ordering wine, "A prince is a prince whether he currently has a kingdom or not…" He scoffed in irritation; no doubt the noble Lord Kise would be back with reinforcements at some stage, and though it was amusing seeing all them all flustered and squawking about his nephews impending engagement, Lord Kise had always been…persistent. "I don't know  _what_  it is about that man that always leaves me with a headache."

"I know the feeling, your majesty."

As though understanding that politely rebutting the complaints of royals was hungry business, servants began filing into the room and setting the table for lunch. Imayoshi sighed, pushing aside his letter and gesturing for wine to fill the goblet in front of him. From somewhere behind his chair, he could hear the soft whispers of Midorima exchanging words with one of the servants in passing. He thought he heard a chuckle, and within moments, he quickly found out why.

" – _How could you not tell me_?"

"Good morning to you, my dear daughter," Imayoshi greeted innocently, looking up across the royal dining room to see Satsuki standing there in a deep green gown; hands on hips and cheeks puffed out in the way she had when she was a child. "…You're meant to give me  _warning_  about these things, Midorima…" he added in a low mutter to his attendant.

"She's rather swift when angry at you, your majesty."

"Indeed," Imayoshi sighed in resignation, before letting his voice rise nonchalantly as his daughter glided across the room looking thoroughly displeased, "Come to join your father for lunch, have we?"

"Are the rumours true?" Satsuki demanded to know, drawing to a halt beside Imayoshi's chair and stubbornly remaining standing though the servants were kind enough to set a place for her.

"Satsuki can we not do this now?" he sighed, taking a sip of his wine, "I have  _just_  gotten rid of Lord Kise, and you know what he's like –"

"So it's true then?" she huffed, "Prince Kagami is here for  _marriage_? And I had to hear about it from Lady Miyaji? You know she's been trying to make a fool of me ever since I rejected her offer to marry her son…"

"Well, maybe you should have married her son," Imayoshi pointed out, "He's handsome, at least."

"… _Sometimes he throws things at servants_ ," she sniffed, folding her arms.

"…Not just servants," Midorima muttered from behind the king's chair.

"We all have our flaws," the king shrugged pointedly, "Sit down and let's have a nice meal, shall we?" He gestured for his daughter to take a seat, and it was much to his relief that she deigned to do so –obviously as intrigued as she was annoyed that she'd had to suffer the indignity of finding out such significant news second-hand.

"So?" Satsuki inquired, her tone of forced politeness. "…Are you going to explain yourself?"

"…I thought we were going to have lunch."

" –We are," she replied quickly, and with a far-too-kind smile for how cross she'd been only a moment ago, "And we're going to have a civilised conversation about why you neglected to tell me my cousin is suddenly engaged."

"Oh, are we now?" Imayoshi remarked with a light roll of his eyes, but she was using the kind of commanding, no-nonsense voice that always reminded him of her mother –one that even he had often struggled to argue against. She simply folded her hands in her lap and batted those bright pink eyes at him expectantly. "Well, as I'm sure you're well aware, you still don't have a husband –"

" _Father_ , like I've said –"

" – _It just so happens_ ," he continued, talking over her and holding up a finger to mute her retort before this spiralled in his least favourite kind of argument, "That a lot of eligible bachelors in a lot of powerful kingdoms are also well aware of this." She sighed in exasperation and he couldn't help but let his lips curl up into a winning smirk, "…Including  _King_  Hanamiya Makoto."

Oh, the look of outright astonishment on her face was priceless. Sometimes there really was no greater joy than shocking your children.

"You seem surprised that you'd catch his interest," Imayoshi tittered, relishing his next mouthful of wine, "He's still a man, after all, and one looking for a wife of equal birth to bear him an heir –not to mention you're the only princess in all the kingdoms that comes with a throne."

"How come I didn't know about this?" she whispered; her eyes widening in something that seemed rather similar to mortification. "I-I thought you were desperate to marry me off…"

"Oh, let's not pretend you were  _ever_  going to marry  _him_ ," Imayoshi scoffed, "If you wouldn't marry a man for occasionally tormenting small animals, then I can't imagine you marrying one who destroys kingdoms for pleasure." At least she had no argument against that. "And though he phrased it so nicely –using words like 'alliance' and 'uniting our people', I took the liberty of declining on your behalf." It was almost insulting that he felt like he'd never seen her look at him with such love. "Like I'd let my  _lovely_  daughter marry a spider like him." For a moment it was just about heart-warming, until Satsuki's brow creased and her expression grew suspicious.

"…From what I hear…King Hanamiya isn't known to be a reasonable man," she murmured, "Would he have taken your refusal badly...?"

"Sweetheart, he's a king," he reminded her condescendingly, "He's used to getting what he wants, and what he wants is Touou. And if he doesn't marry you, he doesn't get it. Of course he took it badly. And that's why we have Kagami." Oops, did he just laugh a little?

"So what, you offered him Aomine-kun instead?"

"You make it sound like I'm selling my own flesh and blood," he sniffed, feigning hurt by the accusatory tone of her voice, " –It was a reasonable alternative; the marriage of my royal nephew to a suitable match of Hanamiya's choosing. I couldn't well refuse such a generous offer of an alliance, could I? That would have been outright rude."

"So instead you were  _passively rude_?" Satsuki groaned. Well, that was certainly one way of looking at it. Hanamiya had played nice under the pretence of forming some peace agreement by the uniting of their kingdoms by marriage, but Imayoshi was himself cunning enough to know what he was really after. And there was no way on earth that Imayoshi was letting Hanamiya have any sort of claim to the throne of Touou.

"I played along," Imayoshi corrected, as the servants sidled up to begin loading the table with plates of food for lunch. He didn't miss the way his daughter's eyes softened sadly at the all-too familiar sight of the empty third place set across from her. "If it was really an alliance he was after, marriage to any of the royals should have been acceptable…" He shrugged and nonchalantly nibbled on a piece of bread. "And besides…I didn't think he would make a move so… _amusing_ …"

"Oh father, maybe  _you_  should have married him instead," Satsuki sniffed, and Imayoshi ignored the snort of agreement from behind his chair.

"Come now," he chuckled, "You can't say it's not a little clever? I asked him to send me a match of suitable birth for my nephew. I made the mistake of not specifying a  _bride_ , and Hanamiya exploited that. He sent me a  _prince_ , Satsuki –there really is no one more suited to marrying royalty than royalty…"

" –There's no need to sound so impressed," she scoffed with a roll of her eyes, "But really, Prince Kagami has been in Kirisaki since the fall of Seirin –most people would have forgotten he was ever a royal to begin with –why on earth would Hanamiya give him up?"

"Your cousin has a reputation," Imayoshi reminded her dryly, "…And Kagami  _is_ royal. As well as Kiyoshi's only heir."

He watched his daughter for a moment; watched the cogs turning in her mind –watched as understanding poured in. Of course she understood it as he did; she was equal parts him and her mother, and the pair of them had been shrewd enough between them for at least some of that to have been passed to their daughter.

Hanamiya Makoto could be a petty man; that was known through the kingdoms, and he took no offense lightly. He'd done as Imayoshi had asked –played along, as Imayoshi had played along with him. To marry a royal of Touou; one of the richest and most powerful of all the kingdoms, he'd sent a royal; in most cases a perfect match in terms of birth –but he'd sent a pauper prince; the only heir to a fugitive king, and an all but destroyed kingdom.

"…But if Prince Kagami marries Aomine-kun…" Satsuki murmured quietly, "He'll never father legitimate children to inherit his throne…"

"And Seirin's royal line ends with him, unless Kiyoshi and his royal wife conceive," Imayoshi finished, smiling almost fondly; like a man most impressed by his opponent's latest move at chess, "Which should prove very difficult when Hanamiya's making sure to keep them separated…and god knows the  _Honourable King Kiyoshi_  would never remarry if there was even the  _chance_  his beloved wife still lived…" He trailed off; shaking his head pityingly. "Hanamiya really does take pains to ensure Kiyoshi's torment, doesn't he? His commitment  _is_  somewhat admirable…"

"You're going to call it off, aren't you? Send him home?" she suddenly queried firmly, and Imayoshi actually choked on his wine a little at the absurdity of the suggestion. Satsuki glared at him. "So what? You're making an enemy of Seirin? Arranging a marriage that the entire castle feels is a joke?"

An enemy of Seirin? Imayoshi couldn't help but roll his eyes. It had been what, over ten years since they'd raised an army –over ten years since they could even be called a kingdom, what with their ruler on the run and their people scattered; Hanamiya had done his work well.

"He's of royal blood –which is more than the nobles can claim," he sniffed, "I can't well send him  _home_  –he doesn't  _have_  one; and everyone knows that even here is preferable to Kirisaki Daiichi." That certainly made his daughter fall into a sombre silence. He sighed contentedly, smiling at her reassuringly, "Look at it this way; the more nobles bitching about this engagement, the fewer there will be bitching about the lack of yours –another of which, I might add, you have just escaped thanks to me."

"Don't pretend that any of this was for me," she huffed crossly, her eyes narrowing in a way that Imayoshi felt could sometimes see through him. It was a look she'd inherited from him, regrettably. "You just don't want to lose your crown or have to admit that he came up with a cleverer insult than you did."

Well, he couldn't argue with her there. No king –no man –enjoyed losing, and he couldn't help but feel that if he sent Kagami packing back to Kirisaki (though a  _blatant_  insult), it  _would_  be like losing. Though offending Hanamiya like that was a most appealing concept, that man had tried to throw him. Repeating his rejection would be like being forced to backtrack, when what Imayoshi wanted to prove was that there was nothing –no situation –too clever for him to overcome.

"You're unbelievable," Satsuki sniffed, after a rather tense moment of silence had passed, during which Imayoshi could hear servants rustling behind his chair in conversation with Midorima. What were they whispering about now? "Did you at least consult Aomine-kun?"

"Why would I do that?" Imayoshi scoffed condescendingly, "Things have gone rather poorly in the past."

"They haven't been  _that bad_ ," she countered with a soft roll of her eyes.

"Satsuki, despite several engagements, he's never been married," he deadpanned, "Generally, that's the sign that of things going badly."

"Well  _maybe_  if you didn't try marrying him to everyone who came offering," she sniffed, and Imayoshi couldn't help but wave over for more wine –he had the feeling he knew where this was headed now.

"I don't," he insisted, "I've been consistently deterring some of the nobles for years –they keep coming back though, and I can't figure out why. Aomine's never really seemed like the marrying type…"

"So you're making him get married."

Imayoshi enjoyed the fact that even after all this time, he still managed to bewilder his daughter.

"Satsuki, your cousin sees marriage differently from you," he sighed, but decided against elaborating just how he privately thought his nephew saw the concept of being married.

"I can't believe that," she insisted stubbornly, "Not with everything I've heard about his mother –" Imayoshi was just about to cut her off and remind her that Aomine was _not_  his mother, but it seemed that something she'd spotted across the dining hall had done the job for him. He glanced up from his meal and couldn't supress the audible sigh that escaped his lips. Why couldn't Midorima do his job and give him a little warning about unexpected turns of events? 

It was rare that Prince Aomine Daiki ever graced his family with his presence but when he did, he certainly knew how to draw attention to himself. Not that he ever seemed to care. Even as he sauntered across the room, Imayoshi could see the eyes of the servants being tugged towards his nephew, and the looks and the soft whispers started up. There was something about his presence that could fill a room; something confident, something  _arrogant,_ and even though he was unarmed and barely in appropriate attire, everything about the way he carried himself screamed that he was a force to be reckoned with.  

The king returned to his meal, not at all surprised by Aomine's apparel, and long since weary of seeing it. Was it too much to ask for him to dress respectfully for a meal?

Of course it was. When was the last time he'd seen his nephew dressed like a prince? He had the looks for it, easily –a most striking man, even by noble standards. And where Satsuki was fair, he was dark; his eyes not the typical royal pink, but rather, a rich, deep blue. And his were the kind of eyes that felt like they could burn but with a look; a haughty, condescending gaze that at times seemed both bored and intimidating. 

But more often than not, it wasn't just his looks attracting attention.

"Why good morning, my dear nephew," Imayoshi greeted with a cordiality that may not have been entirely sincere, "So kind of you to join us." Unsurprisingly, he went ignored, a dark-skinned hand reaching out and snatching one of the plates from the table, ignoring the place so obviously set for him. Satsuki's brow creased disapprovingly; though Imayoshi couldn't tell whether it was at the appalling lack of table manners, or the way Aomine had once again neglected to at least have the decency to re-button his shirt.

"Oh, leaving again so soon?" Imayoshi sighed heavily, watching his nephew making to stroll off again, plate in hand, mouth half full and tanned chest exposed to reveal a torso riddled with purple love-marks and scratches that he had long since given up pretending were feline in origin. "…But Wakamatsu's just caught up to you…"

There was a low curse from the hallway through which Aomine had just entered, and those present were greeted by the sight of the blond soldier staggering against the doorway, panting as though he'd just been running. He looked furious, and was clutching a likely once-again misshapen nose, blood dripping down his chin. Aomine paused mid-stride to glance disinterestedly over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing when he recognised the soldier.

"Hah? You're still there? Did you get slower?" he remarked condescendingly, picking at his ear before turning to survey his uncle. "…Stop sending your dogs after me."

"…I have to exercise them somehow," Imayoshi replied playfully, motioning for Wakamatsu to move no closer lest today be the day he finally snapped. He caught Satsuki glaring at him rather pointedly, so was forced to add, falsely pleasant, "Ah, Aomine, there's actually something I've been meaning to talk to you about –I suppose you've heard the rumours circulating around the castle?"

"Hmm?" Aomine mused disinteresting, adding something else to his plate and casually wiping some of the grease off on the loose, white shirt he was wearing, "…Why would I care about rumours?"

"Well, because they pertain to a certain royal engagement," Imayoshi explained, and Aomine at least took the time to look in the slightest bit surprised.

"Engagement?" he repeated, before he scoffed with a scornful roll of his eyes, "So Satsuki finally quit her complaining and picked some poor bastard?"

"Aomine-kun!"

"It's not  _her_  engagement, Aomine," Imayoshi elaborated politely, with an ever-so-polite sip of his wine, "It's  _yours_."

If he'd been hoping for some kind of outburst, he was disappointed.

"Again?" Aomine drawled, as though the entire concept was far too troublesome.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate your enthusiasm," he commented as Satsuki interrupted him, quick to add, "Aomine-kun how can you still be so blasé about this? This is your potential marriage! I mean, I'll try and talk father out of it, don't worry but–"

"Why would I worry?" he snorted flatly, "It's not like this changes anything…" Imayoshi would have liked to pay a little more attention to the argument that seemed about to erupt; well, not so much argument as it was Satsuki trying to make a point and Aomine ignoring her in favour of stockpiling his plate –but Midorima had tapped him on the shoulder.

"Your majesty, it appears there has been an  _incident_ ," he remarked stonily, and the king had the feeling that his attendant was giving Aomine's state of dress a look of disdain. Fair enough, really. Did he have to go flaunting such vulgar marks? And not even taking the time to readjust his hair or properly buckle his pants. It was almost amazing that he'd shown up in shoes.

" –It appears that our guest has…been making a nuisance of himself."

"Oh, good…and it's only just lunchtime."

" –I just can't believe you're okay with this…"

"Tch, would you quit your nagging, Satsuki?" Aomine snorted, mouth half full of food and seeming like he was regretting coming to the dining room in the first place, "It's not like this one's going to be any different from the others."

There was a sudden yowl of pain from the edge of the room, and the royals had their eyes pulled to the source of the noise –a bloodied Wakamatsu who had apparently just had his nose forced back into place by one of the servants.

"Wakamatsu, you should really just stop provoking him," Imayoshi advised, pretending that he didn't hear a number of low, grumbled expletives directed at the prince, who didn't seem to care.

"Tch," the blond scoffed, gratefully accepting a cloth to clean his face, " _Ow._ And uh, your majesty; I think we're about to have company." He jerked his head back down the corridor he'd emerged from, and it became apparent that there was some kind of commotion going on down the hall. Imayoshi exchanged a look with Midorima, who just adjusted his glasses knowingly and didn't comment.

"Get your hands off me! Fucking  _untie me_!" an aggressive voice was crowing; its owner obviously struggling, judging by the sheer noise and frequency of grunting.

"…You'll just try and hit us again. So I can't do that," came the patient but somewhat long-suffering response.

" –Is that Susa-san?" Satsuki inquired curiously, "And…what's going on, father?"

"Hmm, I would very much like to know that, myself," he remarked dryly. "Would you care to explain, Susa?" he added lightly, as Wakamatsu stepped aside to allow for the Touou army's Third Captain to enter the room, somehow retaining an air of dignity despite the fact that he seemed to be extraordinarily dirty. "I mean, it's nice to see you, and all, but I'm having a frankly rather rare family moment here...what was so important?" 

"...Our... _guest_  broke out of his room," Susa explained flatly as several of his equally dirty men appeared in the doorway, practically wrestling with said   _guest_. If he hadn't had that layer of mud, Imayoshi might not have even recognised Kagami Taiga; he seemed to be a whole lot cleaner than when he'd first appeared before him, and he was dressed in new, but admittedly now-ruined clothes. 

"He broke out of his room," Imayoshi repeated, raising an eyebrow curiously at the man being unceremoniously shoved into the room and straining against the rope tying his wrists at his back.

"Yes, your majesty. Broke the door down," Susa replied, as though this was a routine report, "...We only just apprehended him." 

That would explain why his men were looking so exhausted and a little battered.

" –And you had to tread mud into my dining room?" he sighed in disappointment, "And I suppose you're treating him like a common prisoner because…"

"…Because they know that if I had my hands I'd be beating them," Kagami piped up, barging the nearest guard in the chin with his shoulder and making to do the same to another before Susa had drawn his sword and pressed it to his throat. He flinched away from the cold steel, but the man who had managed to capture him didn't release the pressure. 

He'd thought when he'd gotten the door down that things would go relatively smoothly. Takao had said they were on the third floor, so he'd figured that finding three flights of stairs, or even two...even one, wouldn't prove too difficult. But it had turned out that it was rather problematic having zero idea of where he was, or of where the castle corridors led. 

And  _gods_  those guards were a lot faster than he was expecting. A couple of them had tried tackles once or twice, and being flung to a stone floor was something that Kagami had never really enjoyed or gotten used to. There had been a lot of rolling around but he'd managed to shake them a few times before finally being cornered by their captain and tied up  _again_. 

And now here he was again, brought before that  _King_  and that princess, and in a room full of the most delicious smelling food; but this time there was someone new in the room; someone that seemed to have at least some of the guards wary; someone whose very presence made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle in warning. 

"Those are big words for someone who's looking so pathetic," a deep voice remarked, oozing condescension. There was something in that disdainful, almost arrogant tone of voice that made Kagami's hands clench into fists against his restraints; the low, dangerous rumble of some kind of predator. Red eyes quickly honed in on the owner of the voice; the one that the soldiers holding him captive seemed to be eyeing almost...disapprovingly? 

"...Untie me, and we'll see who's pathetic," Kagami challenged aggressively, ignoring the way his bruises were flaring up all over again. 

It was almost eerie, the deafening silence that followed. Almost thoughtfully, the man lowered the plate of food he was holding, letting it softly clatter to the table as he turned to survey the man who had seen fit to interrupt his lunch. 

To Kagami, he didn't look like a noble. He wasn't dressed like one; he was dressed much like the redhead, in fact...tight, simple pants, and a plain white blouse, though this man's was completely unbuttoned to reveal a rich, tanned chest. His torso, also like Kagami's, was riddled with bruises and scrapes, but where the redhead's were large, blotchy, discolourations from being battered about, those... _those_ were the small, deep purple of a much better kind of ferocity. And then slowly, Kagami's gaze drifted higher; drinking in the strength in that body that might have gone unnoticed by those not used to evaluate threats. 

His eyes finally settled on his face; a face that might have even been handsome if wiped of the arrogant sneer that curled up from his lips...and then there were those eyes; blue and superior, and, Kagami was sure, hiding a spark of something dangerous. 

And then, even as he met this man's cool gaze, he felt a surge of anger and something akin to resentment burn through his body, and when he understood what exactly it was, his eyes widened in astonishment.

"You!" The redhead ground out accusingly, that single, spat word causing even the king to raise an eyebrow.

"…Have we met?" the man inquired flatly, his sneer indicating that he didn't particularly care if they had. He turned to face the king, ignoring the way Kagami's eyes narrowed darkly. "Imayoshi. Who the hell is this guy?"

" _He_  is the surprise I asked Wakamatsu to mention to you," King Imayoshi replied innocently, ignoring the disapproving look from the princess sitting at his side.

At that, his expression changed slightly, and it set Kagami's guard high. Where before, it had been disinterested and dry, and his eyes had been dull and bored, there was now a hint of interest; a dangerous kind of expression indeed, a kind that the redhead hated. He couldn't well tell the man to get away from him now; not when he had challenged him only moments ago, but those blue eyes were unashamedly trekking across his form in a way that made him shudder with an ill-concealed grimace. When a tanned finger reached out to tilt his chin, he defiantly turned his head away, but still forced himself to look up from under his long bangs and meet that blue, appraising gaze.

"Where did you find this one?" he inquired, with all the casual airs of a man judging some kind of curious beast. His thumb brushed against the redhead's lower lip almost experimentally, ignoring his deepening scowl and the way he gritted his teeth. "He seems…"

In a flash, Kagami's teeth met with a sharp snap as he bit down on air, though he huffed in annoyance when he realised that this man's reflexes has been sharp enough to save him losing a digit. Blue eyes narrowed, but not without a small spark of approval. 

"…Mangy."

"Now, now," Imayoshi tutted disapprovingly, as Kagami felt the blade at his throat tense in payment for his attempted mauling, "This isn't a little plaything for you, sweet nephew. His name is Kagami Taiga, and he is the man you are going to marry."

Kagami's blood had run cold even before the weight of those heavy words had fully registered with him. He felt his eyes widen in horror; flicking from person to person in the room as if to ask if that was some kind of terrible joke. He'd long since let despair creep up on him, but in that moment, there was no denying that he felt a flash of it all over again.

"M-Marry?" he choked out in disbelief, aggressively tugging on his restraints despite the sting of a blade pressing into the skin of his throat, "Him?? NO! What are you talking about??" 

"You think Hanamiya sent you here on a whim?" was the king  _chuckling_? He looked down over his glasses almost reproachfully, "I did say I wasn't going to kill you." 

Whatever else Kagami had been about to blurt out was cut off as he felt a cloth gag being forcefully shoved into his mouth. He tried to bite; tried to spit it out; tried to form the words that Hanamiya couldn't do this to him; that there was no way he was marrying  _anyone_ but the captain holding him was as big as him, strong, and obviously better-kept than Kagami, so it was a futile effort. For what it was worth, he noted that the man at least looked apologetic for predicting his outcry. 

"You're  _joking_ ," Aomine deadpanned, sounding as though his uncle had said something rather offensive, glancing across at the muddy redhead currently being gagged to preserve some of the peace in the castle, "You're marrying me off to this man?"

"…Though I'll admit I'm amused, I am most certainly not joking," Imayoshi replied, dead serious though his tone remained what he thought was rather pleasant. "And I wasn't aware you had a  _preference_."

"Tch…" Aomine snorted, looking down his nose at the redhead now clamping his teeth down on a cloth gag and glaring at him as though there was nothing more he desired than to punch him in the face. Kagami  _did_ want to punch him in the face, if only to vent some of the ugly, heavy feeling boiling in his gut.   _This_ was Hanamiya's new plan? So he  _had_  just been exchanged as property. If he'd thought the answer would be any different  from how it had been for half his life, he might've asked if it mattered what  _he_ wanted. 

His apparent  _betrothed_ was beginning to circle him in a way he didn't like --it felt like he was being evaluated; hunted, like the other man was sizing him up for a meal. This time, he didn't look at him, because he could feel the heat of a smirk of a man who was at the very least content with what he saw. This time he fixed his glare upon that black-haired king, Imayoshi. Was he just like Hanamiya? 

So fixated on leering up at the king sitting so smarmily at his swanky table, Kagami barely heard the almost thoughtful hum of the man standing beside to him, so when a tanned hand snaked out and crudely cupped his backside, he let out a muffled yelp as though he'd been bitten.  

Imayoshi shook his head in exasperation as the captive prince tried to flinch away from the contact; something most intriguing crossing his gaze –something that either Aomine didn't see or chose to ignore in favour of giving his ass a quick squeeze. The redhead merely gritted his teeth on his gag, but the king noticed the way his jaw clenched and the way his eyes lit up in… _anger_?

"Hmm," Aomine snickered, taking a step back and looking almost pleased with the heavy look in those red eyes glinting at him, "…He'll do." There was another choked noise of protest from Kagami, but apparently Aomine was done with his evaluation, and was returning to the table, paying no mind to the man who had tried to maul him only moments ago. 

Imayoshi looked across at his daughter with a smile as if to say ' _see, it all turned out well_ ', but she wasn't looking at him –she was staring across at the man most unfortunately bound and gagged and wearing eyes shouting out to be freed.She couldn't seem to look away.  

"What should I ask them to do, your majesty?" Midorima inquired quietly.

"Hmm?" Imayoshi raised an eyebrow, "Well, clearly make sure he doesn't escape again."

"…You want to keep him  _prisoner_?"

" –Did I say that? No, of course not; we're not tyrants…just…send him to one of the guest rooms, and make sure to push something heavy in front of the door," he advised, as though that were the obvious solution. "…I'm sure he'll calm down." Both king and attendant glanced towards the doorway as Susa strode over to receive instruction; Kagami still struggling and sprinkling drying mud across the stone floor, but at least not trying to head-butt any of the guards while the captain wasn't within arms reach. 

His eyes never left Aomine, boring through him, even as the prince of Touou turned his back on his supposed betrothed and returned to mindlessly adding food to his plate. It was a little strange, the vehemence in those red eyes –what kind of a man looked at a stranger like that?

"Hmm…he knows him…" Imayoshi mused, most curiously, as his attendant relayed the king's orders to his captain. Midorima paused, adjusting his glasses, before clearing his throat and replying, "…Prince Aomine  _does_ have a reputation…"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," he scoffed, "What do you really think?"

There was a long pause, though it was impossible to say whether or not the king interpreted it as thoughtful contemplation or hesitance.

"I…I'm sure I couldn't say, your majesty," Midorima finally replied with a stoniness that at least went uncommented on. But something did seem to strike him, as he called out to Susa, who was gesturing for his men to start dragging Kagami off deeper into the castle again. "Captain?" Susa paused expectantly as the king's attendant nodded towards the table, "…Take some food along with you. It would reflect poorly on the hospitality of our kingdom if we were seen neglecting our guests."

"Right you are, my lord," Susa remarked gruffly, with a slow bow of his head. Even Wakamatsu, still dealing with a nose undoubtedly at least indirectly caused by Aomine, couldn't help but snigger in amusement at seeing the kingdom's Third Captain so staunchly armed with a tray and stiffly traipsing about like some kind of butler. It took a few decent shoves, but apparently the smell of food acted to make Kagami the slightest bit more docile, resulting in no casualties as he was escorted from the room. 

* * *

 

"…Well that went well," Imayoshi mused to his daughter with a reassuring smile, when tedious silence had once again descended on the dining room.

" –Only because they had Prince Kagami bound like a common criminal," Satsuki replied disapprovingly, shaking her head sadly as she eyed the way her cousin had apparently decided that whatever was on the table was more interesting than his impending marriage. "…Imagine what might have happened if he'd been free…He looked like he wanted to hit Aomine-kun…"

"It's a pity he didn't," Imayoshi sighed in genuine disappointment, "He could handle taking a couple of hits now and then…"

"Like he could lay a hand on me," Aomine drawled disinterestedly; only distantly aware that his family was talking about him, and not sharing his cousin's concern. " –He didn't seem like anything special…"

"He's the Prince of Seirin, Aomine-kun, of course he's special," Satsuki insisted, "I mean, with the mud he doesn't look like much, but there's just something about…he makes me think…he kind of…I don't know..." She trailed off, biting her lip, as Aomine hoisted his overloaded plate with an air of accomplishment and flung her a dry look.

"Tch, you're being annoying again, Satsuki," he grumbled dismissively, turning his back on her. Despite the irritation in his voice, there was no fire and no real bite; just disinterest, and that always seemed to hurt her worst. 

"You're leaving already?"

"Huh? I only came to get food…"

" _Aomine-kun_ it wouldn't hurt you to spend some time with us!"

"Hmm…? Don't wanna."

"I'd forgotten how nice it was to have a meal together as a family," Imayoshi muttered dryly, eyeing his nephew's indifferent escape from the dining room, and wincing as his daughter's voice raised in pitch just ever-so-slightly too much for his ears to enjoy. 

"So you don't have anything to even  _say_  about this?" she sniffed, folding her arms, "At all?"

"What's there to say?" Aomine snorted dryly, "It's just another engagement. That  _Kagami_...he's no big deal." When it became apparent that he was making for one of the nearby exits, Wakamatsu moved to block him; obviously having spent far too long trying to locate him to let him leave so easily. 

"Get out of my way," Aomine remarked coolly, eyeing the man opposite him, face still streaking with light bloodstains. But Wakamatsu simply folded his arms and stared him down, as if to ask where he thought he was headed. Blue eyes narrowed; not in the least bit intimidated. "...Or I'll make you."  

 

"Let him go, Wakamatsu…I wouldn't want to risk your nose taking another hit today…" Imayoshi quickly advised, gesturing for the blond soldier to stand down, since it looked like things could come to blows. Wakamatsu looked both thankful that he wasn't going to have to tail the prince, and disappointed that he didn't get the chance to at least take a swing at him. Clucking his tongue in annoyance, he stepped aside. 

Imayoshi watched Aomine leave as abruptly as he'd entered, Satsuki shaking her head in resignation and settled back into picking at her food. At least now he was troubling to buckle his pants properly, though he was almost deliberately leaving his shirt hanging wide open for the entire castle to see what kind of amorous activities he'd been engaging in. A pity that his nephew's eyes still seemed dull; he'd been hoping for Kagami to pique his interest a little more.

That being said, Imayoshi was sure that as Aomine stalked from the hall, taking pains to throw a piece of meat at Wakamatsu's face, he heard him musing, "Seirin? …Why do I know that name?"

"He's impossible," Satsuki huffed.

"My Lady. Aomine…I mean,  _Prince Aomine_  has always been wilful," Midorima reminded her firmly as she pouted and stuffed morsel into her mouth in a  _most_  unladylike fashion to show her annoyance. The spare place set at the table suddenly seeming even emptier now that its intended guest had come and gone without so much as disturbing the glass of wine laid out beside it.

"Yes, but...to treat this so lightly...even for him," Satsuki sighed in frustration, "Does he think he won't actually have to marry?" 

"Tch, have you seen his track record?" Wakamatsu scoffed from over by the doorway, before looking a little sheepish that he'd spoken so out of turn in the presence of royals, "...I mean...my lady..." 

"No, you have a point," she admitted, "Father..." But Imayoshi wasn't exactly listening to those defeatist attitudes. Instead he was thinking back to Kagami. He was thinking back to that dirty mop of red hair, and the way those crimson eyes had peered out from under it. Eyes that, despite being in a foreign land, and despite having once belonged to Kirisaki Daiichi, still managed to, at the risk of sounding cheesy, burn with a boldness that he hadn't seen in quite some time. He'd caught a flash of it on the night that Kagami had arrived; and he'd seen it again today. 

_Spirited_. How... _admirable._

Yes. The nobles could say what they liked; his daughter could be as skeptical as she wished, but he truly did feel like this time was going to a whole lot more interesting.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there is chapter two done! I apologise for length; I have no idea how long each of these chapters is going to turn out to be! And so, we have a not-so-interested and maybe not-so-princely, Prince Aomine, and a Kagami who...well, what has he been through? Stay tuned to find out more! Hope you enjoyed the read.   
> Much love  
> xx K


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thought I should hurry along and put up a new chapter! And, as this chapter turned out to be a bit longer than I'd intended, I wound up splitting it in half. This means that the next one will be up hopefully pretty shortly, too!  
> So, read on and I hope you enjoy!

 

* * *

Susa Yoshinori really wished that he didn't know with complete and utter certainty that he was going to become intimately familiar with current situation. Though his own practiced, tolerant expression gave nothing away, his men weren't quite so guarded, and he could see in their faces that they very much shared his resignation.

He really wished that he could say that this was going to be the last time that they would be hauling Prince Kagami Taiga back to confinement.

It was crystal clear from the look on his face that they weren't going to be nearly so lucky. In his time as a soldier, Susa had had dealings with his fair share of prisoners –it came with the territory, and as a captain, responsibility for captives often fell to him. There were all kinds; the ones that cried, the ones that begged, the ones that refused to talk, or eat, but the ones that had the same glint of determination in their eyes that sparked in Prince Kagami's –they were the ones that proved most troublesome.

There was something that drove them to be free…which inevitably caused problems for the people trying to prevent that.

He'd led them a right chase today, especially for someone fresh out of the infirmary and with apparently no clue as to the layout of the castle. Susa's men were looking a right wreck, really –covered in dirt like they'd been training particularly hard all day, and bruised and battered and aching from bounding down stairs and trying to bring the stubborn prince to the ground. An exercise in pursuit, like that, might even have proved  _refreshing_ , had the captain not been painfully aware that it was more like likely going to happen all over again.

Even now, Susa was making sure to maintain his vicelike grip on the redhead's bicep, lest he try to make a break for it before they reached his new quarters. And, judging from the way he kept trying to head-butt and shoulder his way free; that was exactly what Kagami had in mind. It was a good thing that Susa was well-matched for the prince in size –anyone too much smaller might well have been flung aside by now.

Some of the men had suggested blindfolding him –probably to disorient the poor man even more, but there was no need; Touou was a large castle and easily confounding to those not familiar with its halls. That, and, as loosely as the term 'guest' seemed to be used in his situation, he  _was_  one –a prince at that, and Susa was loath to force him to suffer any further indignities; the gag was enough already.

Most men would have found it humiliating to walk the halls like that; such an obvious prisoner, despite what the king might say, and would turn their heads away at the looks of disdain from passing noblemen. But not this man –and Susa had to wonder at it –this man held his head high and met their scorn like it was nothing…as if he was daring them to do more than simply glare.

It was a relief to finally reach the room that Lord Midorima had designated as the prince's new lodgings; the door open and the sound of a servant busying themselves inside.

"Welcome to your new room, my lord," Susa remarked politely, as they drew up; two of his men automatically taking up a position on either side of the large wooden door, "Please reconsider trying to escape again," he added, tugging the gag away from the redhead's mouth and narrowly avoiding losing a finger in the process, "We  _will_  catch you."

"Don't count on it," Kagami spat back hotly, again trying to yank away from him and failing, "…And don't call me that –"

"…What would you ask that I call you, then?" Susa inquired flatly, only for the redhead to glance away in a childish refusal to answer. " _My lord_  it is, then." He turned to beckon to the servant in the room, who seemed to be in the process of filling a bath, "Servant, come. Lord Midorima ordered us to bring food for our guest." There was a brief pause as a bucket was dumped to the stones and the dark-haired servant wandered forwards to receive the large tray of food that one of Susa's men had been bearing.

"You must be hungry, my lord," Susa remarked, cutting the bonds tying the redhead's wrists in a single motion, but easily gripping his fists before either of them could come flailing to strike him. It was admirable the amount of strength still in those hands considering how he hadn't eaten since coming to the castle –not to mention the ordeal he must have been through while getting there.

" _Kagami_ ," the prince growled irritably, his voice failing to mask the loud groan of his stomach. Susa felt the hands in his grip relax slightly, almost as though he had only just now been struck by the realisation that he was famished. "Just Kagami…Is fine…"

_How strange._

"As you wish," Susa replied dutifully, unfortunately used to the eccentricities of royals. One couldn't serve King Imayoshi for any amount of time without coming to acknowledge that sometimes it was impossible trying to understand them. He nudged Kagami forwards slowly, ushering him towards the room and nodding at his men to get ready to barricade the door.

"…So you  _are_  imprisoning me," Kagami scoffed angrily, though he thankfully seemed to be accepting that that door was still going to close on him no matter how much he tried to escape from Susa's grip.

"If that's how you choose to see it," Susa answered neutrally, releasing the redhead's wrists and giving him a firm shove into the room. Before Kagami even had time to react to being freed, the door was slamming shut behind him.

"Hopefully you'll find this one a little harder to break down."

Kagami curses were quickly drowned out by the sound of something heavy scraping against the stone floor of the corridor; a sure sign that his most obvious exit was being walled off. He slammed a fist into the wood angrily, but was rewarded with nothing but a muffled thump and a stinging hand. But that didn't stop him from aggressively swinging another punch at the door, and then another, and then finally knocking his forehead against the solid wood in frustration.

Of course, none of that did any good.

"Ugh…." Kagami groaned into the door; his hands clenching and unclenching in an attempt to stop his shoulders from shaking with fury.

This was not happening.

What was Hanamiya thinking, sending him here? Ever since Kagami had been a boy, not a day had gone by without some bitter reminder that he was going to be chained to Kirisaki Daiichi until he died. Hanamiya had made sure that he could never call Kirisaki home, and yet could never leave. And now he was far from there, but still trapped, all over again; doomed to marry a man whose very presence set him on edge and had his guard rising.

Even just thinking of that man's face and the crude clench of fingers digging into the flesh of his ass made Kagami's anger flare, and his fist met wood again, only to throb uncomfortably.

"I take it your escape didn't go so well."

Kagami had forgotten that he wasn't alone, and the sudden comment made him start in surprise, prompting him to spin around to face whoever it was that had decided to mock him so familiarly. And then, when he recognised who it was perched at ease on the windowsill, he couldn't help but scoff in annoyance.

"Ugh," he snorted in heated aggression, "…What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" Takao snorted, holding up his empty bucket with one hand and gesturing dramatically with the other at the full bathtub a few paces in front of him, "…Seeing as  _someone_  can't seem to go more than three hours without needing another bath…" He met Kagami's gaze rather coolly, and then his eyes skated down, resigned to how dirty the redhead had managed to get in such a short space of time, "Seriously, where did you even find all this dirt…?"

Kagami didn't answer; the growling of his stomach the only thing that was currently rivalling his anger. He could smell all that food just sitting there; taunting him, making his mouth water something terrible. He wanted to shout and beat that door down, and if it would've done him any good he might've demanded to be set free. But the sudden gnawing emptiness of his stomach made him realise that he needed to regain his strength. In the years at Kirisaki, he'd come to know hunger, of course, but it had become so constant; so ever-present, that it had eventually come to be a part of him, and only now that all this food had been placed before him, did he realise just how famished –and therefore, just how weak, he was.

His stomach growled again as he made a beeline for the table, and he swallowed, and with that, tried to push down his rage. Getting angry in Kirisaki had never done him any good; never gotten him anywhere, and what good was he if he stayed starved when there was food on offer?

Tentatively, he reached out towards the tray of food, as though it all might vanish if he touched it; as though there was some price he might have to pay. It was all for him, though, right? That's what they'd said? And was this just one meal? The captain guy hadn't mentioned anything about having to ration it, right?

"…What was that?" Takao inquired, informing Kagami that he had mumbled a question aloud. The redhead didn't look at him, just licked his lips and picked up a piece of soft bread. It wasn't warm anymore, but it was definitely fresh.

"Will I get more?" he asked vacantly, and once again, the servant was struck with how strange he sounded.

"Of course," he replied curiously, raising an eyebrow, "You're a guest here. We're not going to starve you." Red eyes flicked over to him, assessing his face as though searching for some kind of deceit. But if there was anything in Takao's face it was puzzlement, and that seemed to be enough. Kagami crammed the piece of bread in his mouth and couldn't help but let out a soft murmur of something much like delight at how soft and delicious it was.

"…At least wash your hands…" Takao sighed rather belatedly, shaking his head in disbelief and sitting back against the stone wall as he watched the redhead wolf down morsel after morsel; looking as though he couldn't get enough of it. It was actually  _astounding_  how fast the food vanished –Captain Susa had been quite generous with the food he'd brought up, but nothing about that seemed to daunt Kagami; he was eating as though someone might steal it from his very fingertips if he slowed.

"…Wow," the servant couldn't help but remark with a low whistle. The sound attracted Kagami's attention and he glanced over, licking his fingers; cheeks stuffed to bursting and food scraps stuck to his chin. Takao burst out laughing, and the redhead looked appropriately put out.

"What?" he sniffed, his voice muffled by the sheer volume of food still crammed in his mouth.

"Nothing, nothing," Takao chuckled, waving away the accusatory look the redhead was giving him, "I just…you're really hungry, aren't you?"

"…I can't remember a time when I wasn't," Kagami shrugged simply, turning back to his emptying plate as though it were no big deal. Takao couldn't help the way his eyes saddened for the briefest of moments; caught off guard by the flat, easy honesty of the statement. But then his gaze sharpened again and he let his crooked smile smear across his face again.

"Well, soon you'll be our prince," he commented offhandedly, "And you'll never have to go hungry again."

Any lesser man would have withered at the sudden heaviness that fell across the room. Takao, however, simply inclined his head most curiously as Kagami paused mid-chew, and slowly swallowed, hanging his head and glaring down at the table with eyes that could've held lightening. His jaw clenched, hands balling into fists on the wood of the table; curled so tight his knuckles were turning white. That almost child-like simplicity that had been brought on by the gift of food just a moment ago had vanished in an instant; replaced by something much darker.

"I won't," he whispered vehemently, almost as if speaking to himself. And there a kind of reckless defiance in his voice that Takao couldn't help but shiver; finding it all too like the kind of desperate tone one would sometimes hear from the mouths of condemned men. "I won't marry him."

"Ah, I'd heard that you didn't take it very well," Takao mused, but quietly, because even though he was relatively confident with his ability to evade bodily harm, he'd been a servant of Touou for long enough to be a good judge of men. He didn't fear him; he knew that Prince Kagami wasn't a malicious man…but he could tell that, genuinely angered, this man could be a force to be reckoned with. He could practically see the storm clouds brewing atop the redhead's crown; thunder rumbling ominously, and lightning crackling across his scowl.

"Did you know?" Kagami suddenly asked, turning to face Takao so suddenly and with such heat that the servant actually flinched, and had to scramble for purchase on the stone to stop from toppling backwards out the window.

"Huh?" he inquired innocently, rather comically clinging to the wall.

" –You knew why I was here, didn't you?" he accused, "…That's why you laughed at me…"

"Laughed?" Takao repeated innocently, "Now that doesn't sound like something I'd do…" Kagami looked so much like he wasn't buying the façade that, despite the suspicion in those red eyes, he snickered, "…Of course I knew. I told you, didn't I? The servants know everything."

"So why didn't you tell me?" he huffed crossly, getting to his feet and kicking his chair over in frustration.

"…Well, you didn't ask," Takao reminded him rather pointedly, taking the opportunity to remove himself from the window ledge to check on the bath. "And you could've. Though hearing it from me wouldn't have made it any less true." And knowing the king, he probably would've been thrilled to be the one to deliver the news. King Imayoshi was a lot of things, and sometimes  _petty_  was one of them.

It seemed that Kagami at least seemed to accept that on that note, he was entirely correct.

"…Wait," he muttered in realisation, "…You say you know everything here? Does that mean you know a way out of the castle?"

" –I'm assuming you're meaning  _other_  than the front gate?" Takao raised an eyebrow, and received an aggrieved glare in response. He chuckled, "Of course. And your bath is ready; there are new clothes sitting on the edge of your bed. Again."

" –So you could tell me how to get out of here?" A small flash of hope had crossed Kagami's face, and Takao somehow found it the slightest bit amusing, "Tell me!"

He couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of guilt for laughing, and then another at the way Kagami's face fell as he came to realise that as friendly as Takao was, he was still a stranger, with loyalties that didn't lie with him.

"Just because I know doesn't mean I can help," he chirped, although he allowed himself to sound at least a little apologetic, "I do serve other masters, after all, Kagami." He had to take a moment to duck again as his empty bucket went flying straight towards his head. It hit the heavy door with a heavy thud and cracked. Ah, maybe he shouldn't tease so much.

"M'lords?" he added brightly as a signal to the guards outside that he was ready to be let out. That loud, grating noise started up again in response; the soldiers most obligingly beginning to move aside whatever heavy item of furniture was blockading the door. "But, nonetheless…" he added, glancing playfully towards the redhead, who looked like his frustration was rising again and might threaten to boil over at any moment. "…I do wish you all the best for your future escape attempts. God knows the castle guards could use the exercise…"

He only just managed to slip out the door before a foot stool came flying his way.

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm afraid not, Wakamatsu," Kobori replied, inclining with his head for the blond soldier to follow him, "Captain's orders."

" –But I'm not meant to cover for Iwamura until later this evening," he protested, gesturing to his unfinished meal as proof that he was off duty for the meantime. Kobori simply gestured again, and he was forced to get to his feet, his comrades snickering at him good-naturedly.

"…The captain's seen fit to station more men on Prince Kagami, I mean… _Kagami_ ," Kobori informed him, still sounding calm but no doubt as displeased by the news as the rest of the soldiers gathered in their dining quarters. "…The bolts on his door are apparently coming loose."

"Seriously?" Wakamatsu grumbled, "What is he, some kind of animal?" He stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth for the road, and debated about just making off with his plate. "…The captain doesn't think he'll get loose, does he?"

"Maybe that's why he sent for you," Tsugawa piped up, mouth full of food, "You're the most used to chases, since you've had to run after Prince Aomine for years…."

" –Why you little…"

"Wakamatsu," Kobori called firmly, because if they lingered in the castle guards' dining hall any longer, there was every chance that Wakamatsu might throttle the younger soldier. Not for the first time. The blond huffily stalked away from the table, making sure to cuff Tsugawa over the back of the head with more force than necessary, before following his comrade out into the corridor.

"So he's  _still_  at it?" he muttered, shaking his head incredulously, "That guy…can't he just give it a rest? Most people would've given up trying to break the door down pretty quickly…"

"It's only been a few days," Kobori reminded him, "You can't blame him for trying."

"Well yeah," Wakamatsu snorted, "But seriously, he's knocking the bolts loose? Did someone accidentally leave a  _battering ram_  in there or something?"

They heard Kagami a good few corridors before they even approached his room. The noblemen roaming through that part of the castle gave the pair of soldiers looks of disdain, as though it was their fault that he was causing such an ungodly din. It wasn't just the banging that seemed to be echoing through hallways, but the shouting too –was it really so necessary to be yelling so violently?

"Captain!" Kobori called out as soon as they rounded the corner to discover both Iwamura and their Captain Susa bodily pressed up against the door uncomfortably, and grimacing with every quake of the door.

"You. Can't. Keep. Me. In here!" Kagami was yelling from inside his room, punctuating each word with a loud thump as he bodily hurled himself against the door. The bolts keeping the door locked were rattling; definitely coming loose, as was rumoured. Even the heavy stone bench holding the lower part of the door closed seemed to have shifted since Wakamatsu had last been stationed there.

"How does he not have any broken bones?" Iwamura gritted out –sounding in the slightest bit impressed –as both Kobori and Wakamatsu jogged over and slammed themselves up against the door to give their sweating, bruised captain a moment of respite. Susa rolled his aching shoulder, nodding to Iwamura, and, with his help during the pause between Kagami's blows against the door, heaved the stone bench back into place with a mighty shove. Stone met wood with a heavy thud; blocking all movement of the door and taking some of the strain off the protesting bolts.

"T-That should hold him for a little," Iwamura groaned, slumping down onto the bench and wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, "It took him half a day to move that thing…" he winced as the door shuddered against his back again.

"Why can't we just throw him in a prison cell…" Wakamatsu sighed, "Those doors are a lot stronger –they're  _made_  to hold people who want to break out."

"Kagami is our guest," Susa reminded him firmly, and there was a scoff of disbelief in from inside the room, "King Imayoshi doesn't want him…treated like a prisoner…" Even though he was a good soldier who would follow the orders of his king, he at least sounded as though he didn't quite understand the logic of saying something like that, and then barricading someone into a room.

"You know, I'm glad that His Majesty doesn't have me chasing after that good-for-nothing prince now, but I gotta say, this isn't much of a step up," Wakamatsu added gruffly, shaking his head and glaring at the door as though that might quieten down the racket, "Prince Kagami, would you give it a rest?"

"…Don't call him that," Iwamura and Susa immediately sighed, as there was a particularly loud crash, followed by a heavy groan of pain, "It seems to make him more aggressive," Iwamura explained.

"Kagami, you're going to hurt yourself," Susa sighed, the beating against the door having paused for longer than usual, and several grunts of pain informing him that that had probably already happened.

"I don't care."

"Would you stop being a brat, already?" Wakamatsu snapped, shaking his head in exasperation before lowering his voice, "…If I get one more poncy nobleman glaring at me because of this guy…"

" –Then you'll bow and do nothing," Susa ordered, to remind him of his place, "Or you'll likely be back babysitting the prince –the one that actually knows how to escape the castle. You know? The one you never catch." That shut him up all right.

"He'll need to sleep sometime soon," he continued quietly, "…When he does, call the servants to bring some food; Lord Midorima wishes to make sure we aren't seen to be  _inhospitable_." It really did show their relative discipline by the fact that his men all resisted the urge to look rather pointedly at the stone bench barring the bolted door.

* * *

Kagami had never realised that pretending to be asleep could be such a good idea. While crouching on the floor groaning over his aching shoulder, he had happened to overhear that a servant would be sent in while he was asleep. And for that, they'd need to open the door, which gave him a miniscule moment of opportunity.

He'd planned for it to be Takao again, because of all the servants Kagami had known, even at Kirisaki, he seemed to be the most perceptive and uncannily agile –so who knew what the other servants of Touou were like? In retrospect, if he was right about Takao's keen senses, he probably wouldn't have fallen for the clothes stuffed under the sheets to mimic the shape of a sleeping body –but the trembling, wide-eyed servant that inched in through the door, did.

It had been  _very_ satisfying to deal a solid punch to the face of one of the guards hovering outside his door –if he'd had more time, he might've tried to swing another; but there were five of them at his brilliant moment of escape, and he didn't want to get into the inescapable grip of that Captain again.

There was yelling behind him, but whatever it was felt muffled by the sound of his own rushing blood and feet slapping painfully against the cold stone of the hallway. Two other guards suddenly materialised before him, blocking off the end of the corridor, but Kagami didn't stop, simply veering towards the smaller one and barrelling into him with the force of a charging beast. The lighter man went flying, barely causing Kagami to break his stride.

The other man immediately gave chase; the sound of heavy boots echoing on his tail.

 _Shit_.

This sprint was no better planned out than his last –he had no clue where he was going, or where he was, or even where he might find some exit. He didn't know how high up he was either, from the view outside his window he was a good two or three storeys above an open path, but that could still be any number of floors above ground level.

"Get out of the way!" He shouted aggressively, barging straight through a small group of well-dressed men that, from what he knew about nobles, were probably comparing sleeves or something. " _MOVE!"_

It was with a kind of sick thrill that he heard several shrieks rising up as he ran; men and women backing against walls and ledges in their hurry to get out of his way.

"Stop him!" the guards were shouting, accomplishing nothing but adding to the huge commotion. Kagami didn't dare look back yet; his eyes were too busy searching desperately for signs of a staircase leading  _down_. It wasn't helping at all! These stone hallways all looked the same to him!

"Look out!" he barked, rounding a corner and seeing a trio of servants trundling across his path, bearing between them a large barrel that looked far too heavy for even three of them to be carrying. He sped up, seeing looks of terror on their faces as their eyes seemed to dart between his accelerating form and the barrel they were bearing.

"Move!" He shouted aggressively, taking a giant leap into the air just as all three unanimously decided to drop their burden in the middle of the corridor. It hit the stone with an almighty crash, splitting open and deep red wine spilling all over the floor. Kagami heard a gasp of horror as he landed, almost losing his footing as he landed in the rich-smelling liquid.

"Stairs?" he snarled at them, taking a moment to look back over his shoulder and seeing the guards still in hot pursuit.

"Next left; end of the hallway," one of the women squeaked in shock, before clamping her hands over her mouth and backing against the wall before she got trampled by the approaching guards. It took only moments for Kagami to locate the staircase, and took them with a flying leap, landing at the bottom with knees shaking and groaning with despair, but still choosing to serve him well.

That would give him a minute to spare.

Kagami didn't know exactly how far he ran; how many corridors he found himself sprinting down. He tried to make some sense of the place; every so often coming across a tapestry or an ugly sculpture that he was sure he'd seen while being escorted to his room –but this castle seemed so much more impossibly big than Kirisaki Daiichi that he was beginning to wonder if he was maybe trapped in some kind of maze.

It was only when the footsteps pursuing him began to sound muffled and distant that he allowed himself to slow; ears sharp for any sign that he was about to be cornered. His lungs were burning and his knees twitching and threatening to give out at any moment –he'd taken another flight of stairs like the first and it seemed that the stone floors were doing his joints no favours.

"Fuck, where am I?" he whispered to himself, panting to try and catch his breath. This entire sprint had been fuelled by adrenaline, and he was feeling a little lightheaded from it all. Hanamiya had never given him a lot of freedom to build up his stamina, and it was beginning to take a toll, no matter how strong his will was.

Taking advantage of the silence and the emptiness of the corridor, he began walking more slowly; but still tense and prepared to run at the first sign of unfriendly faces. Touou certainly was a much nicer place than Kirisaki, he had to admit; the corridors were well-lit by torches and the sun, and decorated with bright hangings and tapestries. Even if he was a prisoner here, he didn't feel that unwelcome cold; didn't feel quite so caged.

What was similar, though, was that even though there didn't appear to be anyone else in the hallway with him; his skin was prickling as though he was being watched. It didn't feel malicious; didn't feel  _dangerous_ , didn't make him feel the need to watch his back, like it had in Kirisaki, but he still didn't quite know what to make of it.

In fact, why was the hallway empty in the first place?

" –W-would you…just…" Kagami suddenly spun around at the familiar voice, baulking away as he saw with a grimace that that guard –Wakamatsu –had suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor he'd been making for. The blond soldier let out a groan, panting heavily and leaning on the wall to catch his breath. " –Give me a moment…" he added, apparently seeing flight stamped all over Kagami's body language," –Just calm down will you?" he growled, beginning to stalk forwards, "We know this castle better than you; we'll just keep hunting you down…"

"Y-you say that," Kagami huffed, trying to keep his breathing even, "…But you're already getting tired…" Wakamatsu appeared to be alone, but he doubted it would stay that way for long.

"Look, I don't want to hurt you," the soldier informed him, but there was a firmness to his words that told the redhead that he would do it, if he had to. Kagami glanced back over his shoulder, scowling when he heard the echoes of heavy boots on stone. A quick glace told him that Wakamatsu was approaching slowly, as though he were inching towards a particularly large, skittish cat. He just watched him, making no move to flee.

It was only when Wakamatsu was only a few paces away that he reacted; lunging forwards and swinging a fist out to stun the soldier. But apparently the guard had been expecting such an attack, because he ducked with incredible speed, and tackled Kagami squarely in the gut before he had the chance to make a run for it.

Even winded, the redhead managed to deliver a hefty blow to Wakamatsu's stomach with a knee, and the pair of them toppled to the floor; Kagami wriggling to get the guard's weight off him. He managed for a second, only to have his feet knocked out from under him by a cheap kick meeting his ankles. He tumbled back down again, crying out in pain as his wrists were forced to take the brunt of the force.

"Sorry –" Wakamatsu began to say, before letting out a howl of his own as Kagami lashed a foot out at his knee; aiming to incapacitate him. He missed his mark; sparing the soldier's knee, but still managed to get him hobbling with a thigh wracked with pain.

"Let me…you'll never…" Kagami snapped, crawling along the floor and ignoring his shaken joints as he scrambled to his feet.

"Stop!" Wakamatsu groaned, flinging himself forwards and bringing the redhead to the ground again by the scruff of his shirt. Kagami's skull cracked hard against the stone and he let out another thick groan of pain as his head swam. Partly in a daze and black spots dotting his vision, he felt himself being rolled onto his stomach; his cheek pressed against the cool floor. He let out a groan of discomfort, continuing to struggle as his hands were yanked behind his back.

"Captain! I got him!" Wakamatsu hollered, grunting from the effort of trying to keep the redhead was writhing free, "Can you…he's… _Captain_!"

All of a sudden, a nearby door was flung open with an unearthly crash, startling both men out of their skin and causing Wakamatsu to momentarily lose his grip on Kagami. That moment of pause was enough for him to buck the soldier's weight off him and begin to scramble to his feet.

"What the hell's going on out here?"

It was the voice that made him pause; that deep, thick purr that sent prickles of warning coursing across his skin. As soon as he was on his feet, he spun around; eyes somehow missing the guards in his peripheral and instead zeroing in on the man stalking out from a nearby room with nothing but a white sheet draped haphazardly around his waist.

Lazy blue eyes suddenly narrowed darkly; meeting his heated gaze without so much as flinching. Kagami's brow furrowed into a scowl, his lip curling distastefully at the image the Prince of Touou was presenting. One tanned hand was at his crotch; the only thing pinning the sheet in place, and his entire rippling, dark body was glistening with a light, telling glaze of sweat.

"Oh, it's just you…" The contempt in the comment felt like a slap to the face, and coupled with the condescendingly quirked eyebrow, it made Kagami's pride rear indignantly.

"Why you –" he began to growl, before squawking as he was abruptly seized under his arms by both Susa and Iwamura, who had taken full advantage of his moment of distraction. He could've sworn he heard the prince  _scoff_  at him, picking at an ear disinterestedly and looking down his nose at the redhead. Those eyes; they looked content for the meantime, but Kagami could still feel the predator lurking behind that haze, the one that wore that dangerous look that made him feel uncomfortably hunted.

"Prince Aomine," Susa greeted formally, squeezing Kagami's bicep hard since it seemed that he was on the verge of starting some kind of confrontation, "…We apologise for…" He paused, taking in the prince's state of undress, before settling on, " _Interrupting_."

"Hah?" Aomine yawned lazily, cricking his neck and waving away the apology, "Tch, it's not like it was that amazing anyways…" Where Kagami's face  _glowered_  at his tone of indifference, Susa maintained a practiced neutral expression, and merely nodded to excuse them.

" –Don't," Susa advised Kagami in a tone that somehow made him feel like a chastised child. Apparently he'd seen a dark glimmer of resentment building in the redhead's crimson gaze and decided to minimise the chances of violence. "You're coming back with us, now." And the redhead knew he had no choice in the matter, now –the captain's grip was like some kind of shackle, and he knew that no amount of struggling or trying to shake him off would do him any good. Resigned to that much at least, Kagami had no choice but to allow himself to be tugged away, back down the very corridor he had entered through; right back to where he'd started.

He could feel eyes on him again; but these eyes were different from the ones he had felt when he could've sworn he was alone. These ones…he could feel them burning through his clothes; raking up and down his body, and when he glanced back over his shoulder, he caught blue, glinting eyes fixed on his ass.

Kagami's eyes narrowed in displeasure, glimpsing the other man's lips pursed almost in contemplation, and he shuddered again as he felt the ghost of a tanned finger brushing against his chin. Almost as though sensing he'd been caught staring, Aomine's dark gaze rose to meet his, cool, detached and exuding that kind of intense aura that had the redhead's fighting spirit rearing its head.

From the corner of his eye, Susa saw the exchange; felt in the slightest bit grateful that he wasn't standing between them, lest he be burned. But as well as that, he also felt, not for the first time, and not for the last, that he really didn't understand the mind of his king.

* * *

"Kagami, it's been  _three days_ ," Wakamatsu groaned, head resting against the wall in the hopes that the cool stones would do something to relieve his pounding headache, "Can you  _stop_  with the banging?"

For a merciful few moments, the rhythmic pounding on the thick wooden door ceased, as if the redhead inside the room was contemplating this.

"…Are you going to let me out?" he inquired flatly, and the blond could only let out a weak, muffled whine.

"…You know I can't do that –" he began to sigh, but the banging started up again even before he'd finished his refusal. He let out a dry sob of despair, glancing across the doorway to where even the ever-collected Otsubo was looking as though he was on the verge of breaking point. He let out a low breath, trying to block out the loud, heavy banging, punctuated every so often with an aggressive roar. And then of course, there was the second stone bench that several of them had had to lift on top of the first to try and reduce the strain on the protesting bolts. And though it did the job, with every few blows against the door, there was an unpleasant scratching noise as the benches grated against each other.

"Gods, when's that Tsugawa meant to show up?" Wakamatsu grumbled, "I can't wait to get some actual sleep…"

" –Aren't your quarters still in this wing of the castle?" Otsubo inquired with a raised eyebrow, "Can't you still hear him from there?"

"Yeah, so, like I could get any sleep there," the blond muttered, shaking his head in resignation, "I'm taking a nap in the infirmary; I don't know how any of the noblemen manage to sleep around here."

"Poorly," Otsubo informed him gruffly, "The Captain and even His Majesty have been dealing with a lot of complaints…" There was a particularly loud crash from inside and both guards winced in resignation; Otsubo clapping a hand to his forehead with a long-suffering sigh, " _Please_  don't throw your furniture around…"

At points during the last few days, Kagami had begun to wonder if just a little bit of Kirisaki had rubbed off on him, seeing as he found a small shred of joy in the knowledge that he was  _thoroughly_  pissing off his guards, and also a fair portion of the castle population. Being unceremoniously flung back into his room had made for a frustrating experience; heightened by the sound of something even heavier being shoved against his door, and the memory of probing blue eyes. A good few kicks against the door hadn't even made the thing rattle this time around.

Nevertheless, it proved an  _excellent_  outlet for his aggression –something to kick and throw his weight against in protest of being locked up. It wasn't exactly his idea of exercise either, but it was better than nothing; and he couldn't just sit there and let them think they'd won, after all. The side effect of driving his guards completely up the wall with the relatively continuous thuds was an unforeseen bonus.

" –Wouldn't it just be easier to chase him until he wears himself out?" Wakamatsu mused as an alternative to having to sit in front of this godforsaken door and deal with the pounding of his head. "Or knock him out again; that seemed to work really well the first time?"

" –He can hear you," Otsubo pointed out, "…And don't worry, it's about time for him to start getting tired again, and he's probably hungry, too."

"…I don't know how he can be; he eats enough to feed half the guard…"

"…Hasn't the Captain recently reminded you to watch your words a little more carefully?" Apparently he had, because Wakamatsu glanced away guiltily and clamped his mouth shut. Otsubo could resist a small, wry smile. "I'm going to find a servant to get some food sent up…"

"You don't  _find_  servants," Wakamatsu snorted, folding his arms disgruntledly, "They just kinda… _pop up_." Otsubo had to chuckle –he  _did_  have a point.

"I'll be back in a minute," he informed him, "I'll tell them to send up something for you as well?"

"Something alcoholic would be  _really_ great." Wakamatsu didn't know why his comrade seemed to find that funny; shaking his head in amusement as he tramped off down the corridor in search of a servant. No doubt there would be at least one lingering just around the corner. The blond watched him go, and as soon as he was out of sight, turned towards the door.

"Hey –hey…quit banging for a second," he growled in a low voice, "I'm serious!" he added, a moment later, when it seemed that Kagami didn't seem like he was going to do as he asked, "How do you feel about cutting a deal?"

There was a moment of blissful silence.

"…You wanted to knock me out," Kagami reminded him darkly.

"Yeah well, I'm going crazy here, and you'd knock me out if you had the chance," he muttered, and there was a mutinous grumble of affirmation from the other side of the door, "So, you want out? I can let you out."

More silence, before Kagami suspiciously inquired, "What's the catch?"

" –If we catch you again, you quit trying to break the fuc… _bloody_  door down," Wakamatsu offered.

"Tch," Kagami scoffed, "…You'd just trip me as soon as you opened the fucking door. No deal." Wakamatsu audibly groaned –he had in fact considered that cheap kind of trick, despite his complete confidence that he and his guards would be able to apprehend Kagami again before he even managed to get anywhere close to an exit. Too bad the prisoner had seen through that.

"Ugh," he sighed, relieved at least that it seemed as though Kagami was willing to entertain the notion of striking a bargain, should they get any more infuriated by the commotion he was causing. The chase through the castle the other day had caused riot enough –nobles squawking about not feeling safe, and having their peace disrupted and the general mess the foreign prince had caused…but now he was just straight up causing constant  _noise_. Screams of war; grating of sword against sword, and all manner of the loud, continuous noises that could be heard at the training grounds or in the city;  _those_  were things he could deal with. This thudding pounding, he could not.

" –How about a head-start?" he offered, after a moment of consideration. That seemed reasonable.

"…Tch," came that prideful scoff, "I don't need that to outrun you; just don't fucking trip me…"

"…I guess that's –"

"This is not a negotiation, Wakamatsu," Otsubo's deep voice interrupted suddenly, and Wakamatsu yanked his face away from the door to glare across the stone benches at his comrade, who had been unusually stealthy in returning to his post. The tall brunette merely raised an eyebrow at him, neither scathing, nor amused, it seemed, and Wakamatsu couldn't help but let out a resigned sigh at having been thwarted.

"Did you hear that, Kagami?" Otsubo inquired, to make it very clear that he wasn't getting out that easily. Instead of replying, there was just that aggravating, heavy thud of a fist meeting wood, and Wakamatsu glared over at his comrade accusingly. "You're cracking a little too easily, don't you think?" he added rather pointedly, ignoring the blond's look.

"You will too, I guarantee it."

* * *

_**A few days later...** _

"…Not that this is the strangest thing I've walked in on," Takao remarked conversationally, "And it uh, certainly explains why the soldiers look a little less on edge but…" He paused, cocking his head as he surveyed the scene laid out before him. "…Do you want to maybe explain what's going on?" It was amazing that he didn't start laughing sooner.

"Oh, so this is funny to you?" Kagami snapped from the floor most vehemently, kicking an empty plate in his direction and missing by miles.

"Yeah," Takao cackled, unable to prevent himself from laughing at the way the redhead was (most furiously), lying in a heap on the floor, tied to a chair. "What happened?"

"…He was trying to get free and knocked himself over," Tsugawa snickered from the doorway, earning a most heated glare from the angry redhead. Takao didn't exactly think that tying him up was a very good plan –from what little they'd seen of Kagami, he tended to react very badly to being bound.

"No, I mean, why are you even tied to a chair?" he inquired, gracious enough to scuttle over and start tugging the chair back upright. Kagami mutinously glared at him out from under his long bangs.

"…My guards overreacted," he muttered.

"He left us no choice," Susa informed the servant, sounding rather as though this  _was_  a last resort.

"Well, you  _were_  driving half the castle insane…" Takao reminded him rather pointedly, as the redhead began tugging on his restraints before heaving an irritated sigh of resignation since they didn't seem to be budging, "Oh, so you can beat down a door but you can't break a measly bit of rope?"

" –You should probably watch your mouth, servant," Tsugawa warned airily, at the same time as Susa heavily requested, "Please don't rile him up…And Tsugawa, mind yourself."

"But Captain, he's just a serv –" A solemn stare from his captain apparently served to silence the smaller man.

In hindsight, Kagami should have expected the guards to take matters into their own hands. He just hadn't expected to wake up one morning bound quite solidly to the sturdiest chair in the room. His fury had done nothing but ensured that he toppled over into a most uncomfortable heap and left to struggle against his bonds on the floor in a most demeaning manner. The Captain had apologised, and he seemed sincere enough, but that hadn't exactly diffused Kagami's anger at being tied up.

He hated being confined like some kind of prisoner. But more still, he couldn't stand being bound like this. The rope burned with cruel familiarity, and losing the use of his limbs gave him a sense of helplessness that he hated with a passion. He wished like hell he could hate his guards for doing this to him, but, as strange as it seemed, he couldn't.

Strangely, he felt as though there wasn't any malice behind the action, even if he had admittedly been difficult enough to warrant some vindictiveness. The rope was tight but only so much to hold him in place. All the guards stayed obediently outside his room, out of sight –weren't in there throwing things, or jeering at him, and even out in the hallway, they weren't laughing or mocking his state. He was untouched and unharmed, and the Captain sounded serious when he said he found no joy in having to do that –but it had to be done to preserve the peace of the castle.

"…You're not going to untie me, are you?" Kagami deadpanned, glaring at Takao almost accusingly.

"You got it," he replied lightly, "Wouldn't want to step on any toes." Kagami didn't believe him for a second.

Irritably, he rocked in his chair again, scowling to himself and then down at his restraints. He had to get rid of these ropes. And then he was going to have to  _think_. He couldn't just  _run_  again, as much as he claimed that he could, and as much of an easy plan that seemed. If he just kept blundering about blindly, he was guaranteed to wind up getting caught again. And that would mean starting from scratch. And even though the door was a good outlet for this  _intense frustration_ , it was doing him no good.

A glance out the nearby window helped, just a little. He could see the bright, clear sky, and even past the walls of the castle, he could see the peaks of mountains, beyond. For the first time in years; for what felt like the first time in forever...escape was an option. He hadn't quite gotten there yet; but getting free; getting back out there was a  _possibility._

Out there; he didn't know exactly where, but  _somewhere,_ there were people he wanted to find. His uncle, his aunt, the only friends he'd ever known...

Some day;  _one day_ , he'd see them again. But first, he needed to get out of here.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there is the first part of what was originally "chapter three" but which I needed to uhh, break up a bit! Second part will hopefully be done shortly! I hope you like Kagami's misadventures, because there's more coming! And, just as a warning, I'm really loving writing his guards. He's really giving them quite the hard time! Hope you stick around for the next bit!  
> Much love  
> xx K


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. 
> 
> I have no excuses, but if you're interested, while I wasn't writing this, I graduated university and have been working my first full-time job! But, just yesterday I thought 'I really want to write this'. So I did. And I hope I'll write some more. So, for those of you still wanting to read on, here you are, and I hope you enjoy!~

At this side of midnight, the King’s chambers should have been peaceful.

The candles should have burned down low. The halls should have been silent. The servants should have been out of sight, and his daughter out of mind. And Imayoshi should have been in bed –along with the rest of the castle at that.

But there he was, slouching at his favourite brunching table in his nightclothes, with no less than his _third_ cup of tea already in hand and fingers pressed to his temple in an attempt to keep an impending headache at bay. No doubt it was a fruitless effort –no good ever came of a rude awakening; especially one that led to his Third Captain lingering painstakingly unfidgeting in the corner despite the extensive silence.

Imayoshi took a long –and perhaps a little petulant –sip of his tea; ignoring the way his daughter’s gaze scolded him for his moodiness from across the table. He figured a little irritation was justified. It was, after all, an _unreasonable_ time of day; his eyes were sporting dark bags and were still adjusting to the harsh candlelight, and more’s the pity, Satsuki had the _audacity_ to still look well-groomed and bright-eyed as though she’d been up for hours. He did, however, take a little solace in the fact that Susa didn’t look like he’d slept particularly long or particularly well, for that matter, so decided to take pity on the man.

His teacup settled back into its saucer with a light _clink_ , and Imayoshi cleared his throat with appropriate disdain to break the silence.

“…Not that this isn’t a _charming_ time to be awake and all, Susa –” The irony in his tone came out a little less veiled than usual, but considering the company and circumstances, he figured it couldn’t hurt. Almost disinterestedly, he glanced down into his teacup and mulled for a moment on how it was unsuitably weak. The servants should watch themselves –the Nobles would never be so generous as to let something like that slide. But as it was, it seemed like watery tea was going to be the least of his concerns.

So, with a touch of poorly disguised irritation, he glanced back up at his Third Captain and then out at the stars, still clearly lighting up the twilight outside, “ –But would you mind explaining _why_ exactly the entire castle seems to be awake at this ungodly hour?”

Susa at least had the decency to wince.

 

* * *

 

 

 _“Kagami, get the_ fuck _back here_!”

  

* * *

 

 

“He did _what_?”

“…Climbed out his window, Your Majesty,” Susa replied blankly, maintaining an appropriately neutral expression as he watched King Imayoshi physically press the heels of his hands into his eyes as though that might change the absurdity of the situation. Princess Momoi seemed to handle the news slightly better, and giggled into her drink.

“ _Climbed out his window_ ,” Imayoshi repeated in disbelief, shaking his head at the nerve of the foreign prince, “…Executed poorly, I should say.”

“He didn’t intend to fall, Your Majesty.”

“Well _obviously_ ,” he sniffed, holding back a yawn, “What did he expect, trying to manoeuvre down a wall while it’s still dark out?”

“I don’t think he considered that it might happen.”

“They never do,” Imayoshi snorted flatly; ignoring his daughter's small frown at that, and taking another sip of his tea in the hopes that it might rouse him to life a little more, “I _do_ hope he’s pleased with himself, disturbing the whole damn castle at this time of night…”

It was most unfortunate that, as a king, he had a duty to ensuring the safety of his people and the peace of his lands. Needless to say, that meant that when there was a perceived threat to the castle, he had to know about it. 

In this case, it was the shouting of castle guards, and the squawking, distressed clamour of the nobles that had roused him from what might have otherwise been quite the peaceful slumber. Something had them in an uproar, and upon sending Midorima down to investigate and summoning a suspiciously small squadron of the castle guard, he’d managed to deduce that all the commotion was _not_ the work of a dangerous criminal roaming the castle –as many lords and their ladies could still be heard trying to claim –but merely the result of their guest prince having, not for the first (or presumably last) time, run amok.

“He has not as yet shown any remorse for that, Your Majesty,” Susa admitted dryly, “…From what I’ve gathered, he’s mostly just annoyed that Lady Moriyama had started screaming.”

"Well of course he was," Imayoshi muttered, shaking his head, "Things might've gone a lot better for him if she hadn't; am I right, Captain?" Something about the king's tone made Susa feel a little scolded and he couldn't help but turn his gaze aside. It was true that the only reason some of his men had been aware of Kagami's escape was because they'd heard the terrified screams from somewhere a floor below, and rushed to investigate.

By the time they had arrived on the scene, the hallway was teeming with pyjama-clad nobles all ranting about how a dangerous thug had clambered in through Lord and Lady Moriyama’s window in the dead of night. Probably an assassin, the Lord himself had been heard saying; working for someone out to steal his fortune, no doubt.

He’d been brandishing a large candlestick as a makeshift weapon, and declaring most vehemently that while the soldiers were off snoozing, he’d been valiantly defending his lady wife from said violent stranger. Chased him from the room with his tail between his legs, he’d said, and luckily there’d been enough of a commotion that he didn’t hear Wakamatsu laugh.

Unfortunately, such a commotion meant that not a single person in the wing was spared a rude awakening –an inconvenience that of course everyone seemed to need to vocalise just as rudely and just as loudly.

And it only got worse when Susa received word that Kagami had unintentionally encountered some of his men. Gods knew that when he and his pursuers hit their stride, no one’s sleep would be spared.

“I apologise for allowing him to disrupt the peace of the castle,” Susa apologised dutifully; head dipping in a slight, modest bow.

“What are you doing apologising?” Imayoshi dismissed, waving his words away with a scoff, “He was bound to try for the window sooner or later, and it was inevitable that he’d do something else to piss off the nobles.”

“Father, _language_.”

“I’m a king and I’m half-asleep, Satsuki, I’ll talk how I like.” Susa never ceased to be amazed at how royally  _un_ -royal his king could be in the early hours of the morning, but wisely kept a straight face. There were times that he wondered if his ability to show indifference to some of his quirks was one of the reasons he'd been a captain for so long.

Imayoshi hung his head in resignation and gazed mournfully into his tea," –Especially since I just  _know_  that later today, Lord Moriyama is going to give me a very long-winded and undoubtedly exaggerated recount of what happened. And if Lord Kise comes complaining to me one more time –” 

“ _Father_ ,” the princess admonished, daintily lifting the teapot and refilling her father’s cup for him, “You really shouldn’t speak ill of Lord Kise –” She gave Susa an apologetic look; pleading for him to keep his silence about her father’s thoughts on such a highly regarded noble, and he shrugged as casually as he dared –privately, he too found the man grating.

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with him so much if you just agreed to marry his son,” Imayoshi grumbled into his tea, “He’s bright, and handsome, and half the young girls in the castle want him.” The princess wrinkled her nose at the thought and let out a light scoff.

“Father, let’s not forget which of us thinks Lord Kise would be a beastly in-law,” she reminded him pointedly, and the king begrudgingly kept his silence on the matter.

“In any case,” Imayoshi sighed, sitting up a little straighter and making no effort to hide the weariness in his eyes, “Please tell me that your men have been successful in escorting our dear guest prince back to his room?”

Susa mulled over his words for a moment.

“…Last I heard, he’d been putting up a fight, but Otsubo has a solid plan for apprehending him –”

“Susa, that is really not the same as what I asked.”

“Rest assured, Your Majesty, they’ve got him cornered.”

 

* * *

 

 

Wakamatsu wasn’t by any means nearing his twilight hours, but it damn near felt that way these days. These chases were taking _years_ off his life, and he was aware that it probably showed. In fact, considering the circumstances, he decided to count it as a small blessing, seeing as a single look at his stormy expression seemed to send the throng of people crowding the hallways scurrying out of his path.

“Move along; head back to your rooms,” Otsubo was declaring in his firmest and most placid voice, “The situation is under control, and we need you to –”

“ – _Whoa_ , are you only catching up now, Wakamatsu?” Tsugawa remarked cheerfully as Wakamatsu nudged his way past his fellow soldiers doing their best to try and disperse the crowd that had begun to gather, “Could you have been any slower?” A vein twitched in Wakamatsu’s forehead, but Tsugawa, with no shred of self-preservation, continued, “ –No wonder Prince Aomine always gets away from y – _mmmff –_ ” and was promptly cut off as Iwamura clamped a large hand onto his bald head and squeezed.

“Can it,” he deadpanned, and inclined his head down the dead-end hallway that their quarry had been unfortunate enough to flee down. Wakamatsu chanced a glance and groaned when he saw that despite a certain redhead being backed up against a solid stone wall, he was doing a pretty good job at keeping his would-be captors at bay. “We thought we’d tired him out, but as you can see…”

“Where the fuck is Susa when you need him?” Wakamatsu groaned, running a hand down his face and steeling himself for the trial of getting Kagami back to his room without a fight.

“Uh, reporting to the king,” Iwamura replied dryly, “And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not be the person telling him that our guest escaped on our watch _again_ , and that we had him in _ropes_.”

“Well, obviously they didn’t work,” Wakamatsu huffed , stalking past his comrades and heading towards the fray –just in time to see Kobori and Kimura securely wrestle Kagami’s hands behind his back and wrench him away from the wall. He was wheezing, and he stumbled when he put a little too much weight on his left knee, and there was a pretty looking shiner –courtesy of Wakamatsu himself –blossoming over one eye. 

“Oi! That hurts, you bastard!” Kagami snarled, as Kobori shouldered him forwards and tightened his grip on his wrists.

“It wouldn’t hurt if you stopped struggling,” Kobori pointed out, not looking as though he’d managed to escape from the brawling unscathed either. In fact, all of the soldiers present were looking just a touch worse for wear, like they’d all recently been involved in a sort of large-scale bar scuffle.

“Okay, fun’s over, Kagami,” Wakamatsu growled, stalking forwards and getting a good grip on Kagami’s elbow and receiving a beady glare for his efforts. He rolled his eyes, adding, in a politer, but no less exasperated tone, “Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about punching you in the face –” Kagami tried to yank his arm away but he was having none of that today. Not again. Tonight’s chase was over, and it was going to stay that way, if it killed him. “Quit your fighting, kid. We caught you, and you _are_ going back to your room right now.”

Wakamatsu should have known there was about to be trouble the _second_ Kagami stilled.

His face relaxed, and the tension and fight dropped from his body, and for a moment Wakamatsu entertained the fleeting notion that maybe they’d won.

That was, until he saw the fire still burning in the corners of Kagami’s eyes as fiercely as ever.

“Make me.”

_Oh for fuck’s sake._

And then, with an almighty snarl, Kagami reared back and ploughed his forehead into the swell of Wakamatsu’s cheek so hard that his ears rung and stars burst behind his vision. It was probably good that he was momentarily rendered blind else he might have had something to say about the self-satisfied little smirk the redheaded prince sent his way. As it was, he was instead doubled over with his face smarting something awful, and his mouth spouting the only sorts of words that could accurately translate his pain –all terrible, and terribly inappropriate.

To his credit, he didn’t loosen his grip on Kagami’s arm.

“ _Gods, Kagami, it is_ too fucking early!”

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you _mean_ you had him tied up??” Satsuki exclaimed in incredulously, shock visible in her pretty pink eyes as she shot her father a look as if to say _did you know about this_?

Susa knew his place; he really did, but that didn’t stop his eyes from briefly glazing over in weariness at the memory of why they had had to go to such lengths.

“I can assure you, Your Highness, it was not our intent to keep him _prisoner_ , as such…”

“Oh, it wasn’t, was it?” she remarked lightly, “Funny, seeing how you seem to have him _imprisoned._ ”

“What does it matter if they tied him up, Satsuki?” Imayoshi sighed dismissively, “A little rope never hurt anyone.”

“All the same…” the princess mumbled, obviously still displeased and not entirely agreeing with her father’s sentiment, “He’s been in Kirisaki Daiichi. He’s probably had enough ropes to last a lifetime.” She cast her gaze back to Susa, who met her stare as unflinchingly as he could meet her father’s.

“We had no other choice, Your Highness,” he informed her, “…I regret to admit that negotiations had failed.”

“You were negotiating with him?” Imayoshi raised an eyebrow curiously.

“As you say, Your Majesty; he is our guest, and therefore I assumed compromised were to be allowed,” Susa answered in a neutral deadpan; tone as dry as he felt he could get away with. To his inward alarm, however, the king actually chuckled at his words, seeming pleased.

“Ahh, Susa,” he remarked; tone amused enough to worry the Third Captain, “I’ve thought it before, but you do have the makings of an excellent husband. How would you feel about marrying my daughter?"

If there was ever a time for Susa to look visibly shocked, that would have been it, but, true to form, he managed to hide it quite well. Better than the princess, at least, who had spluttered into her tea in a most unladylike fashion.

“ –It….would be an honour, of course, Your Majesty,” he replied dutifully, bowing respectfully but privately wondering if this was one of the king’s jokes that he and his men never managed to figure out.

“Father, I’m not marrying him,” Princess Momoi immediately insisted firmly, with a kind smile of apology in Susa’s direction.

“Why not?” Imayoshi sniffed, with all the airs of a grown man _pouting_ , “He’s unmarried, a diligent, high-ranked soldier of noble birth, polite and respectable and not unattractive, and, to my extensive knowledge, doesn’t gossip, whore, or torture anything of any kind.”

“Your Majesty…you flatter me.”

“Of course I do; I’m trying to sell you to my rather picky daughter.” It was, unfortunately for him, clear from the look on the princess’s face that she wasn’t going to be convinced no matter how much of a genius idea her father seemed to think it was. “Fine,” he added with a sigh, chuckling again when he saw that his Third Captain’s shoulders relaxed slightly as though a touch relieved. “Satsuki, are you sur –”

“ _Father.”_

“Girls these days just can’t see the true value of a man.”

“If mother had’ve been able to, she probably wouldn’t have married you.”

“My sweet daughter is so unkind,” Imayoshi lamented lightly, “And, as much as she dislikes the thought of Prince Kagami bound, I assume that was why the castle enjoyed an all-too _brief_ period of peace?” It had been bliss; none of Kagami’s aggressive thudding echoing through the halls, and no nobles whingeing about all the racket.

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Susa replied, before frowning in resignation, “But now there’s no point in ropes. He’ll just get out of them again.” Imayoshi seemed to share his exasperation, but Princess Momoi smiled at him, nursing her tea in her lap.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she assured him lightly, “But, Captain? If I were you I’d keep an eye on that window of his.” She raised her teacup to her lips and took a dainty sip, letting her eyelids flutter closed to savour its sweetness. And when she opened her eyes again, there was a kind of sharpness there that reminded Susa all too much of her father, and perhaps even a shy flicker of what might have been a sorrow that was rooted in someone else.

But he could have been mistaken.

“He’ll definitely try again.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kagami barely stirred when he heard the knock on his door and the tell-tale sound of the barricade outside his door being shifted aside. Instead, he sank just a little deeper into the bathtub and huffed air out his nose like an unruly child might at bath-time. It wasn’t a particularly cold night out, but there was something comforting about the warm water and being able to see the stars; even if only through his window.

He’d spent a long time, not being able to see the stars.

The water, too, was providing relief to his aching arms –it had taken every ounce of his strength to catch his weight on a protruding window-ledge when he’d misjudged a step on the wall and tumbled. It hadn’t been pleasant plummeting down the side of the castle; he knew what it was like to crash land on stone and didn’t intend to repeat it.

Maybe it had been a bad idea to try in the dark. How hard could it be, he’d thought. It was just a castle. He’d done worse; climbed more treacherous walls –the Trash Pit at Kirisaki was sheer and rocky and always dripping; the pit itself always cried blood. And yet, he’d been able to claw his way out of there; rarely fallen. Maybe rage had made that easier; adrenaline from the fight? Or maybe he’d just been _stronger_ back then –there’d been a time when it had practically been his cell, after all. Hanamiya had probably intended to let him die down there one day, except that Kagami refused to. And then, when it had become obvious that rather than destroying him, the Pity was making him stronger, Hanamiya had been forced to stop sending him there.

Kagami knew that he was by no means _weak –weakness_ didn’t let you survive in Kirisaki. But it was obvious enough now, that he was by no means strong _enough_. When he got out of this place, there were lowlifes of all sorts in the wilderness, and beasts and other cruel kings and foreign lands –and he would need to be strong enough to take them all on. And even if he’d only taken on the castle guards in hand to hand combat, he knew that they themselves weren’t enemies to be taken lightly.

The creak of his bedroom (read: prison) door was what pulled him out of his thoughts, and his red eyes slowly slid across to the entrance to find a familiar face gazing at him in the light of a candle.

“Good morning, Kagami,” Takao greeted cordially, as though it were mid-morn and not the middle of the night, “You’re up early today.” Kagami huffed into his bathwater again and sank down again, expression darkening when he felt the servant’s grin widening, “Cranky, too.”

One of the guards outside scoffed.

“Don’t worry about him,” Wakamatsu could be heard drawling with a touch of irritation, “…He’s just sulking because we caught him again.”

“ –It was a cheap move!” Kagami rose out of the water to snap back hotly, before clamping his mouth shut again and sending water spilling over the sides as he slouched into his bath again.

“Still counts.”

“I don’t know why he’s sulking anyway,” Iwamura yawned gruffly, “We said there’d be no more ropes, didn’t we?”

“Well, it’s not like there’s much point,” Wakamatsu grumbled mutinously, and there was a light popping sound as though he’d just stretched out the kinks in his back, “We all know he can get out of them.”

“I’d like to know how he slipped those ropes,” Iwamura mused, as Takao busied himself with laying fresh clothes out Kagami’s bed for him. Then, the guard added, a little lower, and almost to himself, “…I guess you learn some things in Kirisaki Daiichi.”

And, as if on cue, that was the moment when Kagami chose to drag himself out of the bath water, and Takao hurriedly gathered up a towel for him to dry off.

In the dim light of the candle, he found that he could see all too clearly what Kagami had learned in Kirisaki Daiichi.

He averted his gaze as rivulets of water ran down the body of the prince standing before him. They rolled down the grooves of his hard-earned muscle, licking at the grazes and scrapes and already-healing bruises that Kagami had received in the time he’d been in Touou. But they weren’t what made Takao turn away, no –what made his steely eyes soften, not in pity, but in a kind of understanding, were the deep, mottled purples that blossomed across his torso, his thighs, his chest; the kinds of bruises upon bruises that lingered long after the blows that had delivered them.

“What?” Kagami snorted gruffly, stepping out of the bath and dripping water onto the floor as he snatched his towel from Takao’s hands.

“Nothing,” the servant replied quietly, speaking for the first time without a teasing lilt to his voice. Instead, he cocked his head, quite inquisitive, in fact, and his voice was soft as he added, “You really aren’t a Lord.”

“…I said so, didn’t I?” Kagami muttered, wrapping the towel around his waist and moodily heading back over towards his bed to inspect the clothes he’d been gifted. But no sooner had he made to move than the servant was at his side; his eyes seeming greyer and less playful than usual.

“I’d say maybe, you’re more like a servant.”

It wasn’t a question, and although the mere notion would usually make Kagami’s blood burn –because even if he had spent half his life in servitude, he would not let that define him –the softness of it caught him off guard. He’d opened his mouth to contest Takao’s bold statement, but found himself rendered silent by the memory of the Kirisaki sharpness –akin to wariness –in his eyes and in his movements. He thought back to the servants he’d had dealings with in Kirisaki.

They hadn’t asked for that sort of life, had they? Just like him, he supposed.

There was silence for a long moment, broken only by the snoring of one of the guards outside the room. It unsettled Kagami, and made him wary, because from what he’d seen of Takao, he was rarely silent. But before he had any time to ask what the hell had him all weird tonight, he spoke.

“Look, I know you don’t know me. And you don’t know this castle,” he muttered, “…And I know you have no love for the nobles or any reason to make life easier for those sorts of people…” Kagami took a moment to look back over his shoulder just then, as Takao picked up his candle once again. Perhaps Takao hadn’t expected him to look back, because in those usually so deceptive eyes there was suddenly a rare truth –something cracked and humourless painted in the bags under his eyes.

“ –But let them sleep.” With that almost _imploring_ whisper, whatever Takao had revealed was back behind a mask, and his grin was back on his face. It didn’t reach his eyes, though, and when he shifted, his tunic slipped slightly, and the golden candlelight couldn’t hide a purpling bruise marring his creamy skin and creeping up towards his collar. Kagami couldn't help but flinch at the sight; his towel clenched in his hands and a familiar ache throbbing against a matching mark that sat just above his hip on his own body. And of course Takao noticed, and he merely shrugged apathetically, as he added to his plea, 

“…It makes life easier for my kind of people.”

 

* * *

 

 

He ached.

His arms hurt, his face was throbbing, and there was a twinge in his knee that indicated he might have landed a little funny at some point in the chase. It would be useless to try to climb down again tonight despite how opportune it was for his guards to be exhausted. Instead, Kagami took a moment to savour a rare moment of calm, and sat at the window watching the stars.

“Hey, Kagami?”

It was Wakamatsu again. He ignored him.

“Kagami. There’s no point in sulking.”

Susa, this time.

“I’m not sulking,” he declared flatly before he could stop himself. Wakamatsu let out a tired chuckle.

“Good,” Susa remarked, “Wouldn’t want there to be any hard feelings.” He sounded as though he wasn’t speaking specifically to Kagami.

“You _tied me up_.”

“He _head-butted me, Captain_.”

“You know you were making things difficult for us,” Susa pointed out with a heavy sigh, ignoring Wakamatsu's complaint, “I apologised, and if it makes you feel better, the Princess wasn’t happy about the decision.”

“Yeah, _fuck_ –”

“Language, Wakamatsu.”

“ –The nobles would _not_ stop their bitching,” Wakamatsu muttered, “I mean, technically I’m a noble, but at least I _do_ something around here. They were all complaining about not getting any sleep, and just generally being pains in the _ass_ –why do _they_ need sleep? It’s not like they have training to do, or duties to carry out…”

“Wakamatsu.” Susa’s voice was firm this time, and his subordinate actually halted himself. 

“I’m just sayin’,” he added instead, “It was pretty hard running drills on not a lot of sleep. Imagine being like a blacksmith, or a cook –”

 _Or a servant_ , Kagami finished in his mind, without realising.

_Oh._

“…What did you want?” he found himself grumbling, despite himself. For a second it seemed like Wakamatsu hadn’t heard him, because he didn’t answer. But just when Kagami thought he’d just been messing with him, he spoke.

“…I gotta ask, kid. What do you want out for so bad?”

For not the first time, Kagami was struck by how empty of malice his guard’s voice was. Sure, they’d punched each other a fair number of times so far, and Wakamatsu especially tended to yell pretty much as much as he did, but he was never cruel. They joked that their king liked to call Kagami a ‘guest’ when he knew himself that he wasn’t, but strangely enough, they didn’t seem to see him as a prisoner.

Or maybe, despite how much he’d hated and refused to trust, after all these years –maybe that was nice. And maybe that was why he answered. Maybe Takao had him rattled. Or maybe he was just tired.

In the end, all he said, was, “Home.”

It was more than that, really, but his guards seemed to understand nonetheless.

“Of course,” Wakamatsu sighed, shaking his head, “You’re Kiyoshi’s brat nephew. Of course you’d be like him.” He chuckled to himself a little, “A little stupid, a little reckless –”

“Oi, you can’t just talk about –” Kagami began hotly.

“ –And loyal to a fault.”

Was he imagining it, or did Wakamatsu sound impressed?

“…Did you know him?” he found himself asking, his voice quiet and lacking the aggressiveness that his guards had grown accustomed to. It surprised even himself, a little. 

“Nah,” Wakamatsu replied casually, “But everyone knows about Kiyoshi Teppei, the Iron Heart of Seirin; the Humble King –”

“I knew him,” Susa interjected, and Kagami actually found himself turning towards the door in surprise, and wondering what kind of face the stoic guard was wearing at that moment. “He was a good king, and a good fighter, and a good man. Probably too good, which was why Hanamiya hated him, and why he wanted to take everything from him.”

“Careful, captain, or I might be tempted to tell Imayoshi how much you’re praising another king,” Wakamatsu joked, but Susa didn't make to scold him for the jest. Instead, he merely replied with something so simple and honest that it maybe sparked an ache and a kind of longing in Kagami’s heart that he hadn’t felt in many years. A lump rose up into his throat unbidden, and the blurry faces of his smiling aunt and uncle came to mind –his uncle was always smiling; kind enough to warm a kingdom, and strong enough to carry its people on his back alone, even if it broke him.

And for some reason, it made him, just a little, think of Takao, and he thought that maybe he understood, just a little.

_“He always tried to protect the people he cared about. I think it’s admirable.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not want there to be sads. But I'll admit, some points of this chapter made me sad. But, hopefully there will be some happiness around the corner. And, I'm afraid it's a little shorter than usual, but there's still so much story left, so I hope that it's enough for the meantime! Hope to see you next chapter; drop a review if you've enjoyed and hope to see me bring it out, too! 
> 
> Much love, and thanks for sticking around for me!
> 
> xx K


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude, of sorts, I suppose.  
> (Alternatively: This chapter was much longer and I spent a long time agonising over whether or not to split it into two, and eventually wound up deciding to do just that.)  
> Do enjoy~

“Fuck you, Iwamura.”

“Hand it over, Wakamatsu. Fair’s fair.”

“You’re a dirty cheat, and you know it,” Wakamatsu could be heard complaining through the door, but from the sounds of clinking coins that followed, he himself was at least honest enough to pay up when he’d been cheated.

“ –How’s it going in there, Kagami?” Otsubo inquired casually, his tone accompanied by the sound of a pack of cards being reshuffled. Kagami paused at being addressed, mid-way through what felt like his hundredth set of crunches, and was about to retort with something suitably snarky when he was rudely interrupted by a heavy crackle of thunder from the rumbling storm outside. His guards all shared a chuckle.

“ –Now, aren’t you _glad_ you aren’t outside right now?” Wakamatsu commented not a little smugly, and sounding a little relieved that the rain currently beating down upon the castle was heavy enough to wash away anyone foolish enough to be out in it. Kagami huffed at that and went back to using exercise to ignore them. The rain was battering against the shutters that were latched over his window with a chill wind still sneaking in through the cracks, but he would be _damned_ if he was going to give them the satisfaction of just crawling into bed and huddling under the covers.

“You want to be dealt in this round?” Iwamura inquired through the door. He didn’t say anything for a moment, and let the silence linger expectantly, but Kagami just gritted his teeth and embraced the wicked burning in his core as he rolled over and steeled himself for an endless, mindless set of push-ups.

“Fine, fine, have it your way.”

 

* * *

 

“Check.”

“ –One game, Susa; you can’t let me have one game?”

“It’s not the Captain’s fault you’re bad at chess – _ow_!” 

“Tsugawa, what have I told you…”

“Yeah, shut the fuck up, Tsugawa.”

“Wakamatsu. You too. And it’s your move.” There was an overly loud crack as Wakamatsu huffily took his turn and smacked his king away from danger. Susa sighed to himself as he lifted up his bishop, adding in a dry but pointedly loud tone,

“Don’t even try it, Kagami. We can hear you moving towards the window.”

 

* * *

 

Perhaps, Kagami mused, as he ran a hand along the uneven stone of his windowsill, if his guards had seen him as more of a prisoner, they’d have been better guards. Outside his door, in the quiet hours of the morning, he could hear Kimura snoring, and Wakamatsu cursing him under his breath for it. Proper guards didn’t sleep on duty. Proper guards wouldn’t let their guard drop just because night had fallen.

Just because he’d fallen once didn’t mean he’d fall again.  

It was a perfect night; dry and overcast, and with such a soft breeze that it was hard to believe that there had been a storm raging in this very air not a few days ago. Not to mention, it was late –that time of night where even the most vigilant of soldier starts feeling the weight behind his eyelids. And Kagami was feeling a strength slowly returning to his body. 

It felt good.

Quietly, Kagami took a grip on the windowsill, and swung a leg over until his searching, bare toes found purchase on an uneven bit of stone.

He let out a soft breath and allowed himself a small smile before his expression hardened back into focus. There was something liberating about that first step beyond the confines of his prison.

He went slow. Last time he’d been too eager –too sure that he could scrabble his way down the wall without trouble. And it was darker tonight. The stars weren’t out; shrouded in low cloud, and the waning moon offered him little light. He had to feel his way; reaching with a single hand to find a stone that jutted out enough for him to take hold –tentatively brushing his foot lower to find one that could take his weight.

But the darkness, like it had been in Kirisaki Daiichi, was not his friend.

A misstep was all it took. Careful as he was, he tread too heavily on a single foothold, and the stone gave way under his weight; cracking and digging shards into his foot, with the rest scattering uselessly to the ground. Kagami cringed at the soft tinkle that sounded when they met the stone ground below him, and bit his lip to keep from hissing when his injured foot scrabbled blindly against a jagged patch of stone –wildly seeking something to keep him steady.

Beyond his room, Kimura’s snores stopped.

“Surely not,” he heard Wakamatsu deadpan.

“Someone would have to be an _idiot_ to try that climb in pitch darkness,” Kasuga reminded him; his tone one of disbelief –and for a moment there, as they mulled on that, Kagami thought that maybe he’d caught a lucky break.

Unfortunately, he’d merely read their silence wrong.

“….Fuck.”

And just like that, their lethargy was gone, and Kagami knew he was going to have to throw caution to the wind. He was still within arm’s reach of the windowsill –if he didn’t get down, and _fast_ , they’d just be hauling him up by his arms having accomplished nothing but ensuring their renewed vigilance.

So he began to move.  

Whatever it was that barricaded his room shut scraped across the floor with a vicious shriek –Wakamatsu groaned and cursed, and the thing squealed some more. Kagami, forgetting his foot already hovering in limbo, started searching wildly for a new handhold. He cut the heel of his hand this time when he found one, and grit out a curse. It was nothing though; a little sting –nothing more. But all of a sudden, with an oozing cut, the stone was slick, and his fingers couldn’t quite get a grip. His weight was shifting dangerously –and his throbbing foot was still scrabbling at the stone in vain. His other foot was cramping; his good hand clinging blindly to the single piece of stone that seemed to be all that stood between him and another disastrous fall from grace.

In an effort to regain his balance, he thrashed out with his bleeding hand, smearing blood along the stone and doing nothing but grazing it raw. Unlike his first climb, the stars weren’t there to show him the way –he couldn’t see the outlines of his next hold; or where his body was spread. On this kind of night, he couldn’t even tell how far it was to the ground.

He could, however, see a thin trickle of light from his window somewhere above him –still too close.

By some miracle, he found the hold that had cut his hand before, and, ignoring the way it dug into his flesh and burned his nails, clung to it for dear life as he dropped lower.

His injured foot finally found purchase. But it stung, and it stung, and as much as he demanded his foot to take the pain and bear his weight, it buckled and smarted like hell. He cursed –loud –

\--And that was when he slipped.

Someone yelled. Maybe it was him, or maybe it was Wakamatsu calling out his name, but it was all Kagami heard in that instant as panic briefly flashed across his face as and his heart stilled, and he felt completely weightless.

“Kagami!”

And suddenly, there was pressure on his injured hand, and he flinched instinctively as if shocked back to life. But it didn’t dissipate. Instead, it grew tighter –firmer –and just like that he didn’t feel all that weightless anymore, and the ground didn’t rush up to meet him. 

“Oi!”

Kagami hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes, but when he opened them, he found himself staring up at Wakamatsu’s irritated, panting face, leaning out his window most precariously –his hand wrapped like a vice around Kagami’s own wrist. A lifeline, holding him suspended in midair.

“Let me go!” Kagami snapped out of reflex as his feet planted themselves on little outcrops of rock and shook with the strain of taking his weight. Frustration --at his own weakness and carelessness --boiled up under his skin and made him want to struggle; made him want to lash out at the men who were so _insistent_ on keeping him caged. And for a moment there --a horrifying moment that had his heart almost lurching out his throat --when he almost slipped once more as a result of his own stubbornness, he imagined that hand clutching his wrist loosening --vanishing, and letting him fall. But it was a nightmare that lasted only an instant, because he didn't fall; the soldier's grip resolute and holding him steady. 

“Are you kidding me?” Wakamatsu gritted out; his eyes flashing in disbelief, and then with a touch of something that Kagami, if he had've been more familiar with it, might have recognised as concern, "Come back up kid; are you literally _insane_??”

“Do what he says, Wakamatsu,” Kasuga suggested flatly, glancing down through the gloom without much curiosity. “See how much he likes it.”

Kagami was certain that any fear he may have felt when he heard those words didn’t show up in his face, but all the same, Wakamatsu didn’t even let his grip waver for a second. Instead, he leaned out; with Kimura (and Kasuga, despite what he’d just said) steadying him as best they could, and humbly offered Kagami his other hand. There was nothing false in the gesture; nothing tricky or taunting. His fingers reached towards him through the darkness; offering him not escape, but safety. Promising that he wouldn’t let him fall.

For a second, Kagami thought about not taking it. If he wanted to, he could probably wrench his hand away and take his chances. It would take only a moment, and he had strength enough for that at least. The man currently teetering out the window would fall, no doubt –to his death, probably, if he did so, and although that sort of thing wasn’t something that had ever lingered on his conscience before…he hesitated.

…And found himself reaching up to clasp Wakamatsu’s hand.

With a groan of relief, Wakamatsu heaved himself back in through the window, and with a fair amount of cursing and dragging, and with Kagami treading blood all up the castle walls, finally managed to wrench the redhead back into his room. His arms were straining, and he was sweating like midsummer had come early, but his fingers dug firmly into Kagami’s wrists and didn’t let him go until both of his scraped feet were planted firmly back on solid ground. 

“Ugh, I’m gonna start stealing your dinners,” Kasuga grumbled good-naturedly, rolling his aching shoulders and heading for the door again. The elbow jab he gifted Kagami as he passed him by lacked bite. “You’re getting fat.”

“ –Hey, why do _you_ get Kagami’s dinners?” Kimura snorted with a nonchalant yawn, following him as Wakamatsu doubled over by the windowsill to catch his breath. Kagami watched them leave with his head cocked and an odd expression on his face, and an even odder feeling in his chest. It felt weird, but not bad. Strangely, though he'd sulked the whole time at being lugged back through his window like an ungainly sack of potatoes --and reluctantly, at that --somehow,  _somehow..._ he didn't resent them for it. He should. He knew he should. 

And while he stood there with a heavy scowl, an unexpected weight on his shoulder suddenly caught him off guard. He started, jerking in surprise and instinctively readying himself for a fight. But it was just Wakamatsu, breathing heavily and regaining his balance and groaning as if he'd carried Kagami for miles as opposed to the short journey up the wall. 

“Whew…” he groused, clapping his hand on Kagami’s shoulder again as if relieved that _that_ whole ordeal was finally over. Kagami found himself flinching in surprise at the gesture, and stared at him with suspicion evident in his gaze --ready to sling a punch if any violence was forthcoming. But Wakamatsu merely squeezed his shoulder for a moment and gave him a dry, lopsided smirk as he added, “Nice try, kid. But take it from someone who’s fallen out a _lot_ of these windows. That was gonna _hurt_.”

And that was it. Nothing about the scene seemed bitter, or forced, or resentful –like saving someone's life (though Kagami was loath to see it that way) was something he did every day. And the strange warmth from his hand lingered even when Wakamatsu yawned and sauntered over to where Kimura and Kasuga were waiting at the door; righting an overturned chair and table as he went, as though they’d been desperately flung out of his path.

And what’s more; as he left, he flapped a hand back over his shoulder in what Kagami could only feel was a weird kind of companionable farewell.

“Sleep tight. See you next time you try to do something stupid.”

Kagami refused to be grateful. He refused to thank them. He didn’t owe them anything and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna show them any damn _gratitude_ after they’d foiled a perfectly opportune escape attempt. They were still his guards and he was still their prisoner.

But he figured that that didn’t mean he couldn’t join in a game of cards every once in a while.

 

* * *

 

Predictably, Takao laughed. 

 _Laughed_ was probably putting it lightly.

To put it simply, Takao lost his shit.

Head-thrown-back, breathless-with-delight, shaking-with-laughter, _lost his shit._  

“It’s not that funny,” Kagami groused into his food, glaring over at the servant as he wiped tears from his eyes. There was that little sparkle of mirth dancing back there these days, and it had not escaped Kagami’s notice that his cheer seemed to be genuine. The purple of his collarbone had paled, too. Kagami's bones were aching a little less too. He hadn't realised how much beating on a door really took it out of you. 

“It’s _really_ funny,” Takao assured him with a final snicker, “You fell _again_?? Oh, that’s just too perfect, you know? Ah; that brings back some memories.” He tossed his head and chuckled not unfondly, with his eyes misting over with a touch of nostalgia. Kagami stared at him.

“What, does everyone here make a habit of falling down walls?” he deadpanned flatly, nudging a thumb in the direction of his door, where he knew Wakamatsu was keeping guard. Takao broke out in laughter again, waving away his insinuation.

“Ah, not so much,” he admitted with a small shrug, “But you can’t grow up here and not fall out a window or two –like, when I was a kid, my friends and I –” Here, he cut himself off abruptly, and the fondness in his eyes gave way to a small frown as though he was scolding himself for speaking carelessly. Kagami stared at him for a long moment, cocking his head, and with a sheepish chuckle, he amended himself, finishing with, “…Well, we all liked to try and sneak away from our lessons.”

Kagami’s expression softened at that; those sorts of memories had always seemed so far away, to him –but they were there, in the deep places that Hanamiya could never touch. They were the memories of playing pranks on his teachers, and sneaking out into the summer sun away from lessons, and chasing the other kids of the castle through the streets with their sitters hounding them.

“Oh to be kids, huh?” Takao chuckled, and that nostalgia was back in place. Without even realising, Kagami found himself nodding. “ –We always eventually got caught, though,” he added with a lopsided grin that told tales of better, simpler times, and a quick, vacant glance that may have been merely out the window, or out to somewhere in a buried past.

“Well…most of us.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just happened to feel like the right kind of place to split this chapter in two. And I gotta say, Wakamatsu's really getting a weird amount of screentime. Not that I'm complaining; I'm enjoying him. And I'm hoping you do too!~ So do feel free to leave a quick wee comment here about how you're feeling before you move on to the next half!~ I know who a lot of you have a hankering to see, but you never know who'll start turning up~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the second half of that chapter --sorry it wasn't posted a little sooner but I wasn't satisfied with some bits and decided to change them. And this is what we ended up with. Thank you all for your patience! Hope you enjoy it, or something.

 In Susa’s opinion, this really was becoming a rather unfortunately regular occurrence. The long-suffering look on his king’s face indicated that he felt much the same.

“Well,” Imayoshi began, “…Here we are again, Susa.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Susa managed to grit out without sounding overly forced. His king just surveyed him for a long moment, raking his eyes over him appraisingly and making his Third Captain’s skin itch a little. Then, without further ado, he settled back in his chair and went back to writing the letter he’d been in the middle of before Susa had entered.

“Susa,” he repeated, after a moment of silence that had been solely filled by the sound of his quill scratching against parchment.

“Your Majesty.”

“Would you please be so kind as to tell me what’s going on?” He looked up slightly, his eyebrows raised and something light and concerning in his voice. “…Why we’re here?”

A lot of lesser men would have flailed under their king’s gaze or quivered at his tone. But Susa was not a lesser man, so he kept his back straight and resisted the urge to sigh heavily as he announced, without ceremony, “Kagami has…escaped again.”

“Shocking.” It was a little insulting at how nonchalantly Imayoshi went back to his letter. “Truly, Susa, I’m wondering if you keep letting him escape so we can continue to have these lovely little chats.”

“I would never –”

“I’m joking, of course,” Imayoshi assured him with a light roll of his eyes as he leaned back to survey his Third Captain, as uncomfortable as ever with his king’s jokes. “But really, how did he do it this time?”

“…Well, we had had to unbarricade his door –”

“Mmm, so you  _did_  let him escape.”

“ –It was a precautionary measure,” Susa corrected him, before adding, a little guiltily, “…There was an…incident.”

“An incident?” Imayoshi inquired in interest, gesturing for him to continue.

“As Princess Momoi suggested…Kagami…tried to climb out his window again,” Susa explained with a small wince, “He…fell –almost certainly to his death if Wakamatsu hadn’t been in time to save him.” He politely ignored the fact that his king  _snickered_  at the very notion. “We figured that…in the event he try again, we’d have more time if we had fewer obstacles.” He also neglected to add that it had been the general consensus of the palace guard that it was better that Kagami tried a mad dash out the door than wind up splattered from trying the window, but it seemed that Imayoshi had perhaps picked up on that.

“So, he can now just walk right out his door?” he deadpanned, sinking into his chair with a dramatic sigh.

“He snuck out when a servant brought him his food.”

“And where were his guards?”

Susa’s expression darkened slightly.

“ –We had a situation of our own to deal with,” was what he said, which was really code for ‘ _Tsugawa was drunk and running his mouth down at the tavern and Miyaji was having none of it and things started getting out of hand’_. “And, what with Lord Kise’s birthday revelries approaching…we couldn’t afford to have any…indiscretions.”  _Drunk, brawly soldiers aren’t welcome at fancy noble events._

Imayoshi sighed in understanding, adding, “Well, do you at least know where he is?” Susa didn’t want to have to reply in the negative so decided to stay silent, which in essence, spoke for itself.

“ –From what I understand, Your Majesty…” Instead, it was Imayoshi’s attendant, who had been lingering in the shadows beside his chair, that decided to speak for him. He took a step forwards, adjusting his glasses as he did so and gazing down over at Susa with piercing green eyes that seemed more than a little disapproving at what the man obviously considered a failure. “…No one is in pursuit of the Prince.”

The  _‘he doesn’t like being called that’_ twitched and died on Susa’s lips. A Captain he might be, but the Midorima family was old and noble and powerful, and knew it, and it would not do to criticise the heir to that kind of family name. King Imayoshi’s  _eccentricities_ , often questionable personality, and mannerisms he had grown accustomed to over the years. Midorima Shintarou’s, he had not.

The man was younger than him –close to the princess in age, in fact, and had seen far fewer wars than the captain himself, and yet there was something so detached about him; something brusque and cold that Susa didn’t quite know what to make of these days. And a good captain knew his place. So no matter what once upon a time he might have been permitted to say, his mouth tightened around the words that had slipped too easily into habit, and he said nothing. 

Immersed in lamentation, Imayoshi sighed and ran a heavy hand down his face as though it was in fact him that was being most inconvenienced by this whole ordeal.

“Where are all the people who  _serve_  me?” he complained in a melodramatic huff, and Midorima’s voice didn’t shift from its deadpan.

“Occupied, Your Majesty.”

“ _Occupied_ ,” Imayoshi sniffed dismissively, “Well, I guess I can’t complain that our guest is boring, can I?”

“Your daughter would say you deserved it.”

“ –She would,” Imayoshi conceded, “But it sounds suspiciously like you’re saying it too.” He shook his head to clear it; shooing his Third Captain away dismissively, “Susa, go tend to your subordinates, I do  _not_  want to deal with Lord Kise complaining about the inadequacies of the castle guard  _again,_  thank you. And as for our runaway prince…” he trailed off, a sly little spark glinting in his eye, “Midorima. If you would –”

He needn’t have said any more. The green-haired man was already stiffly stalking past the captain towards the door, sternly adjusting his glasses on his nose as he went. And Susa nodded formally; wondering how eyes famed for being so green, could somehow seem so grey.

“I’ll handle it, Your Majesty.”

 

* * *

 

 

He remembered this place. 

It was dark, and it was empty now, and the torches weren’t burning, but he knew he could never forget this hall, with its dark stone floors and high, gilded balconies, and three regal thrones set upon a royal dais.

The stone was still cold underfoot, but he could feel more than that right now, as though no time had passed at all –could still feel that chill under his bare, torn, bleeding feet, and the way his knees had shuddered and cried out when he’d been forced to kneel. Even though he was alone here, tonight, he remembered feeling the eyes of hundreds of people on him; all staring and watching with scorn and pity and resentment.

It had been raining, and the silence had been like nothing else.

Kagami slowly walked forwards; feet padding softly on the stone and his footsteps echoing slightly. It felt so big, and felt so empty. Like a giant, dark cage pierced by slivers of moonlight. It made him uneasy, but at the same time, it was a sight to behold in awe. The walls stretched high, and shadows swallowed up the crowns of the stone pillars that he wove between. Aimlessly, he searched the shadows; looking for a route out that promised escape –barely realising where he stood until the stairs that led up to those intricate three thrones, lay but only a few paces away. They were ugly, he thought, as he lingered there –standing in the spot where he had knelt in his own blood not all that long ago, and had his desperate hope for freedom stamped into the dirt.

Distantly, he wondered if any of his blood still stained the ground. The stone was black; how would they tell?

And with that thought, something twisted in his gut, and he had to take a step back –and then another.

Maybe he should’ve been running again, already. He’d come far, he thought, and encountered no guards. And maybe he didn’t have far to go. But there was something disquieting about this room; and he wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was cold anger, or something else. On one hand, it was the gateway to a new kind of prison, and the dark stone floors felt like the old.

But on the other hand…Seirin had once had a throne room just like it.

Well, it had its differences. Seirin’s had always been light and full of life. The floor was polished white marble, and its decorations simple and bright, and even empty, there was a warmth that had always lingered behind; something comforting. A reminder that you weren’t alone.

Something like a home.

This place didn’t feel like that. Kagami shivered.

But despite that, what remained constant, was the three thrones that sat upon that dais. The foremost; the heart of the room, had been for Kiyoshi. The one at his left was for his wife, and the one at the right reserved for his beloved brother –and then, when he passed and left only a son; Kagami. He’d been too small for the throne, back then, and it had been uncomfortable and hard –made of nought but wood and iron and the love of Kiyoshi’s forefather’s –and since he hated sitting in the thing, he rarely did.

His uncle had never complained about it though. His aunt told him that it was because he respected those who sat there before him; those who had painstakingly carved the way for them with all they had. Because he too, intended to follow their footsteps.

“ _With one’s heart and soul_ ”. That had been his motto. And he’d lived by it up until the last time Kagami had ever seen him –head held high and sword in hand, with blood streaming down his face as he stood with his people when Hanamiya had stormed their lands.

Swallowing down the bitterness that rose with the memory, and letting the distant images of a smiling king and queen fade from thought, Kagami turned his gaze aside.

It was then, that he heard footsteps.

He froze in place, suddenly feeling strangely small in such an open space. Kagami’s body tensed; ready to spring into flight at the first sign of his guards, but he could hear a mere lone pair of footsteps; calm. Unhurried. Not the heavy, urgent footsteps of his guards that he’d grown accustomed to. And yet, something about the sound –so steady; so  _deliberate –_ set him on edge, and made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle into life. His eyes flashed as he backed away towards the nearest corridor –never mind where it might lead – and scanned the shadows for whoever was bold and foolish enough to approach him alone. 

And then there was a glint of grey in a shard of moonlight that had trickled in through the gap in the window shutters, and Kagami found himself staring into a pair of dangerous silver eyes.

“It’s getting late, my Lord,” Takao’s voice murmured from the shadows, low and echoing eerily through the darkness of the throne room. He took a slow step forwards as though feigning a bow, and his lips quirked up into a small smirk. The playfulness was still there in his voice, but there was something else there as well –something that Kagami had seen before and that had made him wary.

Something that had made him think that there was more to Takao than servitude.

“You should really be getting back to your room.”

Perhaps he’d meant it as a suggestion, but there was a lilt to his voice that sounded distinctly like a threat. Kagami’s expression curled into a scowl.

“I am grateful, you know?” Takao assured him; sincere, but with a touch of regret, stepping forwards on light feet, “…But I do still have my masters, and as long as they don’t want you to run free –” He trailed off, letting his words hang in the air as he shrugged, as though it couldn’t be helped, and maybe it couldn’t be.

At least, for what it was worth, he truly looked apologetic when he pulled out a thin knife and twirled it between his fingers like it belonged in his hand. Kagami watched the blade move; watched the skill and finesse with which Takao’s lithe fingers handled it without fear, without hesitation, and without a single scratch. Anger abruptly flared up behind Kagami’s eyes at how stupid he’d been to have underestimated the kind of man who had always sparked warning bells in the back of his mind.

But even though his body tensed, and his eyes narrowed; expecting an assault, Takao made no move to approach him. Instead, he merely sighed, rubbing his forehead with his free hand and shrugging with his other.

“Look,” he started, his expression serious, “I don’t want to have to do this. Really I don’t.”

“I dunno,” Kagami retorted flatly, glaring at him with heat and eyeing the knife venomously. He rolled a shoulder and the resulting crack ricocheted ominously off the walls. “…I might enjoy this.”

Takao had the audacity to look exasperated.

“Just come back to your room, Kagami,” he advised, and huffed when Kagami made no move to obey; wildfire dancing warningly behind his eyes. And Takao must have seen the flames burning in red irises, because his own gaze turned to steel as he added, “Fine then; I’ll level with you.”

If Kagami had expected him to say  _‘you’re stronger than me’_  he was sorely disappointed.

“ –I haven’t done this in a  _long_  time,” was what he said instead, and his eyes flashed and what might have been a small grin licked at the corners of his lips, “…I might be a little out of practice.” He chuckled at that, taking a step forwards and giving Kagami time to brace himself –and then, with a flash of something thrilled, his sharp eyes lit up.

“You probably should have run.”

An instantaneous, icy chill washed over Kagami, and sudden, unexplained dread surged through his body, screaming of danger. And without a shred of hesitation, he flung himself to one side –his reflexes the singular thing that saved him from in that moment, receiving a cold steel blade between the eyes.

He rolled to the side, heart thrumming to the beat of what he distantly recognised as footsteps. Sensing a blitz attack while he was caught unawares by the blade, he spun to confront Takao again; ready to strike out at him when he was within reach and weapon-less. But his blow caught on nothing but thin air and dust, and he staggered –his heavy stumbling the only sound that broke the silence that wore on within the throne room.

_Something felt wrong._

There was only silence, and when he zeroed in on his assailant, he noticed Takao hadn’t moved. Instead, his head was merely bowed to someone as if in submission –a sincere mockery of it if one cared to look, because although he was stooped, he was smirking, and his eyes glinting up through his fringe, were burning. 

Instinctively, Kagami spun –turned too late, and in a blur of mottled green and the belated realisation that he had never heard the clatter of a knife falling upon stone, found an edge of cold steel kissing his bared throat. A feral snarl escaped his throat, but before he could wrench away, a hand closed around a fistful of his hair and yanked his neck taut; the thin blade of Takao’s knife pressing into his skin.

“What the fuck –” Kagami growled, hissing as the blade nicked him just so –a warning to be still or suffer the consequences. Whoever had him in their grasp was strong –stronger than Susa even; and fast, too –he’d barely had time to blink before they’d had him trapped and pinned like some kind of animal. 

“It is futile to resist,” his captor declared; his voice deep and stern, and his tone one of finality. It was condescending, and cold, demanded no argument –but of course Kagami could not grant him that luxury. He glared up at his assailant with all the heat he could muster and would have lashed out, had he not felt the fist clenched in his hair tighten warningly.

Despite himself, Kagami swallowed audibly, but fury danced across his vision. 

The green eyes that his gaze met were unwavering and resolute, and stonier than the lonely hall that surrounded them as though cut from the same rock. His was a face he’d seen at the elbow of the king of Touou, and was one that he’d paid no mind to. But this close; close enough to see the steel in his eyes, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that like Takao –even more so, if anything –this man was dangerous, and not to be trifled with.

“Make no mistake,” he said sternly; eyes haughty and scathing, “I am not as lenient as the fools who let you escape.” There was contempt in his words, and they made Kagami stiffen as he understood the truth of it. This man was not one of his guards –his tone was humourless and disapproving; apathetic at the very least, and scornful at best. He meant business, obviously, but anger smouldered in his blood at the mere thought of yielding –and he refused to let a man like this think he would just  _submit_.

“You think you can just –” Kagami began to snarl, but even as his fist struck out to deliver a crushing, devastating blow to the man’s gut, there was a sharp yank on his hair and burning pain in his left leg, and before he knew what was happening, he was on his knees –one pinned to the ground by a heavy foot and Takao’s knife tucked tightly and unflinchingly under his chin.

Kagami’s breath shuddered; his eyes wide in disbelief and a sudden surge of adrenaline churning through his veins.

_What the fuck…_

“Back to your room, Prince Kagami,” his captor ordered flatly –breathing even, tone bored and leaving no room for argument. Struck utterly wordless by that single moment, Kagami remained unmoving, on his knees –the cold stone feeling all too cruelly familiar beneath him. But then that hand twisted in his hand again –not so hard that it stung, but hard enough to make him obey; like one might lead a particularly insolent dog, and he grudgingly returned to his feet.

Once standing again, he let out a groan as the hand left his hair and instead sharply twisted his arm up behind his back –no doubt to ensure his continued compliance. Kagami tested the man’s grip with a sharp tug, his blood burning hot when it wouldn’t give way, and his resistance caused his captor’s restraint on him to tighten none too kindly. 

Scowling, and disgusted with himself, he glared through the mottled web of moonlight in the hopes that some of the livid fire in his eyes and in his blood might sear Takao in punishment for betraying him so suddenly –so easily. Not that it had been a betrayal. And perhaps that knowledge was what made the anger in Kagami’s veins turn to a kind of bitterness he was unaccustomed to, and which stung more than he would care to admit. Betrayal implied loyalty. And Takao had always made it clear that his did not lie with him.

But the taunt that he’d been waiting for never came. Strange, when the servant had never missed an opportunity to tease and laugh at him, and feed the illusion that they were more than just strangers. He seemed to take delight when Kagami’s escapes went awry, so seemed like he’d be the kind to gloat if he had a hand in thwarting him. And yet, he said nothing, and when Kagami was wheeled unceremoniously across the throne room –back the way he’d come, he saw that the servant was still unmoved; locked in his own kind of bow.

He seemed smaller. And all the cocky bravado he’d been wearing when he’d drawn his knife seemed to have dissipated into the air. For some reason, it made Kagami uncomfortable.  

“…My apologies…Prince Kagami,” he heard him say in a cracked murmur; startling the redhead somewhat with how uncomfortably sincere the sentiment seemed despite the use of the tacked on title that Kagami so detested. But the words sounded stiff, as though his tongue felt thick around them. And there was a touch of something strained in his voice when he added, as they passed him by, “…I hope I was of service…Lord Midorima.”

At first Kagami didn’t realise that Takao was addressing the man behind him. And from the way he didn’t even pause in his stride, it might have seemed like he didn’t realise it either.

“Hmph.” At first, that was the only indication that he’d heard. But then he stilled, if only for a moment, to add as an indifferent afterthought, “Your intervention was unnecessary.”

Was it Kagami’s imagination, or did some of the light wither from Takao’s eyes?

And just like that, they were in motion again; two sets of footsteps echoing out of time around the pillars of the hall –Takao’s reply lingering after them with a kind of disquiet to it that for some reason, made Kagami’s heart lurch, just a little.

“Ah. Of course…m’lord.”

“…However, in future…” Midorima added, not pausing to look back; his voice hard. “…I would advise that you remember that it is not a servant’s place to interfere.” He paused, and for the first time during this encounter the knife at Kagami’s neck quivered slightly. But it might have just been his imagination since Midorima’s voice was as steady as ever.  “Nor do you have any business carrying a weapon.”

Takao closed his eyes.

“Yes. Of course....”

Kagami felt long fingers tightening on his arm indicating that it was time to go, but in protest of his treatment decided to take as damn long as he figured he could get away with without getting his head smacked in. And it was as he lingered there in the darkness of that cavernous hall, just for a moment, that he heard Takao whisper under his breath.

“ _I forgot myself, Shin-chan_.”

If Midorima heard too, he didn’t show it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oi, you can fucking  _get that thing away from me_ ,” Kagami growled aggressively as the knife blade scraped uncomfortably close to his jugular yet again. It wasn’t his first complaint on their little excursion and wasn’t going to be his last but truth be told, it was like talking to a fucking brick  _wall_  when it came to this guy. He hadn’t said a single word on their hike back to his room –well, at least nothing that wasn’t ‘ _shut up_ ’ or ‘ _don’t try that again_ ’.

Twice, Kagami had tried to make a break for it, but somehow Midorima had been anticipating it, and the first time, simply caught him by the arm and pulled him into an impromptu and thoroughly uncomfortable headlock for about two floors –and the second time, he’d barely moved; just stuck a foot out and tripped him like a goddamn  _child_  and let him plough face-first into the ground. No amount of shoulder barging or twisting seemed to have kind of effect.

It was infuriating.

And  _no_ , Kagami was not sulking, not in the least.

…At least whenever Wakamatsu caught him, he could always get a few good blows in edgeways and pay him back for the humiliation of being hauled back to his room like a deserter being escorted to the noose –but this guy. He catches him  _once_  –just like that?? Like it was nothing? And then he goes and leads him along with all the airs of a long-suffering guardian dragging his unruly child away for a time out.

How  _undignified_.

Kagami would have really liked to head-butt the guy; see how he liked that. Maybe that would knock the bored, self-righteous look off his face.

And it wasn’t that he hadn’t tried.

It was just that…well, Midorima had dropped back a step when he’d tried --almost like he'd been expecting it --and Kagami’s momentum had spiralled him into a very intimate moment with a nearby wall. Not to mention, the guy had even had the nerve to glare at him reproachfully, as though he ought to know better.

_Bastard._

“Let me go,” Kagami growled for the umpteenth time.

“I’m insulted that you think I would allow that,” Midorima replied haughtily –at least deigning to reply this time.

“ –Tch…then could you loosen up?” he snapped in irritation, glancing over his shoulder rather pointedly to how his arm was pinned uncomfortably in the centre of his back, “I’m not a fucking animal.”

“That remains to be seen.”

If he thought it would have been any use, Kagami would have dug in his heels. If it had’ve been just one of his guards, he might’ve taken him on. But at the same time, it said something about Midorima that he was the only person responsible for him at this moment. He wondered, just a little, (and ignored the small pang of excitement at the thought) what it would be like to fight him.

A real fight. One-on-one; sword-on-sword; testing their mettle in a ring –not, of course, like the bloody massacres he’d been thrown into in Hanamiya’s Trash Pit –but like the ones he’d watched in awe when he was little; the kind where it was just two soldiers crossing blades to test themselves, or where swordsmen came from all over the land to prove their worth and their strength, 

He wondered, more than a little wistfully, what that might be like. And then his brow furrowed darkly and curled into a scowl. No doubt he’d be stronger than this  _Midorima_ bastard.

In fact, he was just about to give the asshole a piece of his mind; or at least a couple of strongly-worded complaints, but something else broke the silence first; an unfortunately familiar sound –something hushed, and pleasured.  The kind of sound that no grown man, whether they be from castle, city or village, couldn’t recognise –the kind found in shady alleys and dark corners and hidden haylofts.

And, from the irritated noise that his captor made, it seemed that he too, knew exactly what sort of mischief was going on in a secluded corridor up ahead.

He made no move to stop though; each step still long, and stiff and even, and Kagami was forced to mirror him and try to somehow block out the small gasps of pleasure that were getting louder with each step. He grimaced. How many goddamn times had he heard those sorts of whispers (and worse) from dingy hallways and dirty streets in Kirisaki?

Too many, was the answer.

But Midorima did not seem concerned, as though he too had familiar and unsavoury experience with these matters. To say that he didn’t seem bothered was probably wrong, because from what little Kagami had actually seen of the man, it seemed like he was constantly _bothered_ –like there was a small fly buzzing around just out of sight, or like he was holding something particularly unpleasant smelling at arm’s length. But that was all.

Kagami tried to find something else to focus on. The easiest, simplest, least damaging way to deal with these sorts of situations –and something he’d had to learn the hard way –was to just keep walking. To not look –in case he saw something he didn’t want to see; to not listen –some things could never be unheard; and to not interfere unless, when all was said and done –he would still believe that it had been the right thing to do. Sometimes interference was necessary, after all. Sometimes it was worth risking the beatings, and the scars. Better it was him, after all.

Judging from what he’d so far heard of this particular encounter, however, minding his own business seemed the way to go.

And he would’ve. He did, in fact. But maybe it was that he was so inexplicably fascinated by the sound of his own footsteps and the eerily rhythmic echoes they formed with Midorima’s, that he became all too abruptly aware of when the beats upon stone fell out of time.

For the first time since they had set foot outside the throne room, Midorima’s even pace wavered. It was slight; an uncertainty in his stride that Kagami heard –and felt, in the slight jerk of his arm and the tension in the blade against his throat, a pause that could only be called hesitation. And for a moment there; in the briefest of instants where Kagami chanced a glance up at his face, it looked like he had half a mind to speak. Just as abruptly though, he seemed to decide against it, and merely kept walking, gaze trained forward, and said nothing.

But it was a moment enough to pique Kagami’s curiosity –a moment that had his eyes flitting warily across Midorima’s face and then catching sight of something out of the corner of his eye that could only be what had caused the other man to stiffen in his stride. They were merely passing by and the corridor itself was filled with the hazy gloom of twilight, but the scene itself was not an unfamiliar one, and combined with the heightening whimpers of pleasure, there was no way one could miss the outlines of a pair of lovers, or misunderstand their urgent movements. In the dim lighting, the pale skirts of a noble young lady seemed ever-so-bright, and there was no mistaking that they were hiked up over its owner’s hips to reveal a pair of creamy thighs wrapped up over a dark-skinned waist.  

And as distracting as such a sight was to a man, it was something else that stole his attention –something else that stopped his wandering, fleeting gaze dead in its tracks.

 _Blue_.

It must’ve been only an instant that they lingered –Midorima’s strides had faltered almost unperceivably, after all –and yet somehow, all of a sudden, time seemed to slow.

Blue eyes were gleaming at them from out in the darkness; deep and dangerous and scorching warningly –focused not on the face of the woman pressed back into the wall –but outwards as though their owner had sensed their presence and didn’t care for it to linger. Even if the man’s face was partly hidden; even if his grunts were low and muffled, Kagami knew who he was –just as Midorima had known who he was –and the knowledge sent an unbidden shudder dancing across his skin.

Unblinking, unflinching, the prince’s gaze bored into them; through them, with a sharp kind of ice that seemed so out of place –something scathing, that advised them –advised Midorima, perhaps, because Aomine’s gaze was trained disdainfully and most intently on him –that it was best that he not linger. That it was not his place. That if he knew what was good for him, he would just keep walking and not look back.

Midorima seemed to understand, because he didn’t linger. Didn't speak. Didn't spare a glance. 

But Kagami didn’t understand –didn’t understand, how, when Aomine’s eyes turned to him for just a moment –one searing, fleeting instant of time –how they could be so blown with lust, and at the same time, so cold. So detached, and yet so hungry, in the starving sense of the word, like there was an emptiness lingering deep within him that craved and craved, but could never be filled.

_Ravenous._

Disgust coiled low in his stomach –the kind of disgust he usually reserved for the kind of greedy men with lecherous eyes who saw others as things to be used for their pleasure –the kind of men that Kagami had always refused to be owned by. So with heat, he leered back; his lip curled and his body defiantly taut –because from all he’d seen, and all he’d felt, and all he’d come to know of this prince, he might as well be one of those men. And he had no intention of ever being a body to fill that void.

And then, after that mere split second had dragged on for what felt like a lifetime, Kagami felt Midorima’s hand clench more insistently around his trapped wrist, and the world began to spin once more. With a soundless snarl, he snatched his gaze away, and from the corner of his eye watched hazy blue eyes recede back into the gloom like some infernal creature fading back into slumber. But, like it always did, the weight of his gaze remained, and despite the chill of the stone licking at his feet, an uncomfortable heat took up residence on Kagami’s skin and made him want to squirm. Of course his captor would never allow such a thing –his grip tighter than before, and his steps brisker. And when Kagami chanced a glance at his face to snarl at him for almost tripping him, he was caught off guard by the ice he was met with.

If he thought before that he’d appeared stern, now he was forced to admit that there was something formidable about the man. It was in the way his proud green eyes had hardened; boring holes into the nothingness at the end of the hall, and the way his lips were pressed into a thin line of barely concealed discontent –as though the heartless, unspoken exchange with his prince had left a sour taste in his mouth.

He cleared his throat.

“It’s late,” Midorima announced aloud, almost to himself; the shady corridor and all the dirty deeds it held beginning to fade into obscurity behind them. But his voice carried rather scathingly in the empty corridor, and it pierced the night with its own kind of darkness. And maybe Kagami saw those green eyes glint with tangible scorn, and something that may or may not have been rebellion.

“Princes and young ladies should be in bed.”

He received no response. And, judging from his expression, he hadn’t been anticipating one. 

But there had been an odd vehemence to his voice –odd not just because, from what Kagami had witnessed of the man so far; he seemed to favour ice over fire –but because there was something about it; something about his words, and his tones and his eyes, that was not nearly as unfamiliar as it should’ve been, for strangers whose paths had never crossed. And it bothered him; bothered him more than the heavy drag of blue eyes across his skin or the cliché of a prince seducing a noble’s daughter.

Somehow; despite the stone so deep-set in this man’s gaze, Kagami knew that those eyes could burn –like he’d witnessed it before, and narrowly escaped the flames.

In his time at Kirisaki Daiichi, he’d had grown used to the stares. The contempt, the scorn, the dirty lust and all its seedy variants, the smug satisfaction of owning and breaking what your most hated person cared for most. And he hated all of them in their own right. But back down one of his memories there was a glimpse of green. A flash of something hot and bright; haughty and intense in its own right –something that ignited a spark inside him that had felt like relief, because back then, even deep in his heart where Hanamiya couldn’t reach, he hadn’t dared to call it hope.

But there was no way this was the same, even if it had abruptly roused memories that for years he might have sworn were simply just dreams. Those eyes had been different, he was sure –his mind was probably playing tricks –because the ones he had seen back then had held not only a firm, steady kind of ice, but also a touch of something defiant and maybe almost honourable, in a kind of way.

There had been heart there. Determination. They’d been a touch less cold.

Or maybe he was entirely wrong.

Kirisaki Daiichi was a world away, after all, and if it had been anything more than a dream, it had been a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt Takao. But look what's happened. I didn't mean to angst. But look what happened.   
> I promise it gets better.   
> And, a proper hello to Midorima. I wonder how he's gonna factor into this story. :) 
> 
> Hope you're still looking forward to the next one~   
> (Comments are always appreciated!)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a long week. But here I am, trying this whole "regular updating" thing. So, I hope it's all right!~

Kagami hadn’t thought he would hate it quite so much when Takao wasn’t laughing.

He thought he hated it when he _did._ No man likes to be made a fool of for other men’s enjoyment, after all, and Kagami had already had a lifetime’s worth of that. But as it turned out, his silence was so much worse.

It should’ve felt good. It should’ve felt good –should have felt _satisfying_ beyond belief _–_ to watch the playful façade finally fall away from Takao’s face; to watch the realisation light up in his eyes with the knowledge that he had made a fatal mistake –that he had crossed the wrong man. And that appearing before him and expecting no repercussions was a grave, grave miscalculation. Because Kagami could see in his face that he knew –that he understood beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was going to pay for being so naïve as to believe that he could just casually waltz back into Kagami’s presence and still escape his wrath.

And truthfully, with all his heart, Kagami had  _intended_ to make him pay –and for everything, at that. For keeping him here from the very start; for all the false smiles and jokes and light words; for tricking him into thinking that just maybe, he wasn’t quite so alone.

...For being the first person in a long time to remind him what it was like to be spoken to as more than just a _thing_ –only to remind him what he was by turning a knife on him.

But for all his anger, and something deep down that ached, it wasn’t satisfying at all.

Fury had boiled up the instant he’d laid eyes on the unsuspecting servant –just slipped in through the door with some warm bread and a change of clothes for him –and without a second thought he’d flung himself across the room with a snarl; ready to exact his vengeance. And it was nothing if not gratifying to watch the shock rise in Takao’s eyes as he realised his folly.

But then those eyes –usually so sharp –had glazed over; a vacant kind of acceptance taking over, like clouds swallowing up the light of the moon. Something about it made Kagami’s stomach churn the way it had when he’d seen him with his head bowed. This wasn’t the wicked little Takao he knew –that one was sly and slippery and spoke in taunts and jibes –and would certainly never look so pathetic when there was a fist clenched in the collar of his tunic. There had been no lie in the way he had handled his knife, and his words back in the throne room had come with the simple, easy confidence of a man with faith in his own strength.

_A wily servant with dangerous eyes and a silver tongue._

Not _this_.

A lump that he couldn’t explain rose up in Kagami’s throat, and suddenly he wanted to shake him –a new kind of anger building in his blood; a kind of bitter heat, because he knew that Takao; for all the things he’d done that had made him ache somewhere that he thought he’d forgotten could ache, was more than _this_. So, with his face curling into a vehement grimace, and his teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached, Kagami flexed his right hand into a fist –no more than a moment away from delivering his payment squarely across the servant’s jaw.

And then Takao flinched.

It stung.

It was only something small; a reflex in slight anticipation of pain –and yet it had the memory of purple bruises that so perfectly mirrored his own blossoming up behind Kagami’s eyes like bile, and suddenly he had never felt more disgusted with himself.

There was revulsion in Kagami’s red eyes as he roughly shoved Takao away from him, and with a roar filled with anger –whether it was directed at himself or at the other man he couldn’t tell –he spun on his heel and slammed his fist down into the nearest table. Tremors of pain shot up his arm like poison, and he fought for his eyes not to water as his knuckles smarted and the wood splintered under his skin. But he already knew that it didn’t feel half as terrible as it would’ve if he’d been the one to stain Takao’s body with another one of those dirty bruises.

That wasn’t him. He couldn’t –refused to –let himself be like _them_.

Shoulders heaving, he stewed in the silence, cursing himself and fighting back a sudden wave of nausea. Queasiness had never been his thing --he'd been around enough blood, death and other things besides to have grown numb to those sorts of things, but all of a sudden there was a tight gnawing in his stomach that made him feel ill at ease. It felt different from anger. _Worse_ , even.  

“Maybe I deserved that,” was the first thing Takao said, and it caught Kagami off guard; snatching him from his thoughts and bringing him crashing back to the present. 

He was still panting when he retracted his throbbing hand from the crater of a dent it had made in the wood of the desk. And when he turned; slowly -reluctantly -he found the servant staring at him with an odd and rather unfamiliar kind of expression on his face –like he didn’t know whether to be confused or amused. But whatever it was, with it came the wily creature that he knew, with lips curled into a lopsided grin and one eyebrow quirked as though faced with a riddle that he didn’t know quite what to make of; and there was a soft spark of mirth in his eyes when he spied Kagami’s reddening knuckles.

If Kagami had looked long and hard enough, he might have seen that strange softness in his face for what it really was.

_Gratitude._

But Kagami didn’t look, and on that matter at least, Takao’s lips were sealed.

“Maybe,” Kagami muttered mutinously, flexing his fingers and wincing when the action made them twinge, “I won’t apologise.”

“Me neither,” Takao replied simply, with a small shrug, but all the same, his grin seemed at odds with his words –almost _apologetic_ in nature when he added, “But for what it’s worth; it really was nothing personal.”

“Yeah,” Kagami mumbled grudgingly, the heat withering from his voice and the anger that the servant’s arrival had sparked beginning to fade, “I get that.” After all, orders were orders, and masters were masters. And disobedience was never looked upon favourably. 

Takao looked at him again at that –really looked at him; head cocked inquisitively and those eyes –the light slowly returning to them –roving searchingly across his face. And then, with a little, sheepish chuckle and a smile soft enough that it might have even been real, he added, “You’re all right, Kagami." 

His words felt warm, and for some reason, the ache Kagami hadn’t quite been able to place didn’t feel quite so bad. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his fist. He let out a soft grunt of pain and lifted his hand to inspect the damage; frowning almost huffily at the broken skin and the tell-tale blue that warned of incoming bruising. 

This time, it didn’t irritate him when Takao started laughing.

It wasn’t hysterical, and it wasn’t at his expense –more, it felt relieved, and genuinely, genuinely good-natured.

“Phew,” he exhaled, after a moment, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from his brow, “You had me scared for a moment there!”

A vein twitched in Kagami’s forehead.

“Well, what would you expect?” he huffed flatly, “You threw a _knife_ at me! You could’ve fucking _killed_ me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Takao snorted, waving away his comment flippantly as though the mere notion was ridiculous, “I knew you’d dodge it just fine. Believe me –” His lips quirked up into a smirk, and a playful, wicked little glint appeared in his eyes, “…If I was trying to kill you, you’d know.” At that Kagami cocked his head and raised an eyebrow daringly, and although his eyes narrowed, he couldn’t help but smirk back, just a little.

“I’d like to see you try.”

For some reason, that set him off into a fit of snickering all over again.

“Y’know, Kagami, you’re a refreshing kind of guy sometimes,” he admitted through his chuckles, grinning helplessly in the kind of way that made Kagami wish he could so carelessly do the same. “Anyways, here –” He extended the bundle of clothes and bread he’d been bearing when he entered the room. “ –As delightful as this has been, I can’t afford to stick around today; my services are required elsewhere.”

“ –What, lots of stuff to do?” Kagami inquired vacantly, as he separated his clothes and his food and found that alongside the warm bread Takao had brought him, there was a little bundle sneakily tucked into the folds of his new shirt. He eyed it warily, turning it over in his hands.

“…Kagami, I’m a _servant_ ,” Takao snorted with a roll of his eyes, “We always have lots of stuff to do –”

“ –What’s this?” Kagami interrupted suspiciously, holding up his find with more than a little apprehension despite how warm it felt and how delicious and sweet it smelled. Of course, his suspicion only heightened when Takao looked a little bit sheepish; rubbing the back of his neck and overall looking like he’d maybe done something he shouldn’t have. At the same time, though, he didn’t look sorry for it.

“Ah well~” he chuckled, “You caught me.” Curious, but no less concerned, Kagami took a peek into the package, and could do nothing to stop himself from salivating on the spot as the sweet aromas of a good dozen little frosted cakes assaulted his senses. If he was drooling, he wasn’t even ashamed, and if a new brightness had lit up in his eyes then, he didn’t care to hide it. They looked _delicious_ –like exactly the fancy sort of thing Kagami remembered from his summers as a child. He licked his lips.

“ –I figured you’d probably be a _little_ pissed about that whole business the other night,” Takao explained lightly, “So I _may_ have snuck some cakes for you from the kitchen. A peace offering, if you will. I didn’t poison them, if you were worried about that.”

“…Well _now_ I am.” Nonetheless, Kagami, not without a touch of apprehension, fished out one of the little cakes and took a bite.

…And a moment later stuffed the rest of it in his mouth and reached for another; savouring the sweetness exploding in his mouth and then swallowing ravenously. It was fucking _delicious_.

“Glad you like them,” Takao snickered, knocking on the door once for the guards to unlock it for him, “Thought you might like a taste, seeing as you won’t get to sample them on the night.”

“Hmm?” Kagami frowned, midway through his third cake; frosting stuck to his cheek and crumbs clinging to his lips, “What?”

“Oh, you hadn’t heard?” Takao remarked in feigned surprise, “The Lord Kise’s having a party in a few nights’ time. Anyone who’s anyone will be there. The King; the princess, the nobles…” He trailed off, and suddenly, his demeanour changed to something scheming; something sly.

“…And most of the castle guard, of course.”

And then, as if he’d said nothing of consequence, his playful tone returned; a sigh escaping his lips as he added, quite melodramatically, even, “But of course, us mere servants won’t get an invite even if we’re the ones doing all the work.” He shrugged helplessly, and gave Kagami a two-fingered salute as he turned to leave –but the redhead hurriedly swallowed the remnants of his fifth cake and halted him.

“ –Who is he?” he blurted out; his voice hard. And maybe Takao knew without him saying just who he was speaking of, because his shoulders tensed. But just to be sure, he added, more quietly, “…The guy with the glasses. The one who…caught me.”

For a moment, it seemed like Takao mightn’t answer.

“Midorima,” he finally replied, his tone oddly flat. “He’s a nobleman. Midorima Shintarou. His family is old, and wealthy, and respected in these parts, and has been close to the royals for centur –”

“You sound weird,” Kagami deadpanned, licking his fingers. Then his eyes narrowed as he had a sudden, mutinous thought. “You scared of him, or something?” His insinuation clearly came through in the abrupt harshness of his tone, but must have been unfounded because Takao let out a soft, reassuring chuckle.

“Never,” he breathed; so quiet that Kagami almost didn’t catch it. And maybe he wasn’t meant to.

“He seems strong,” he remarked simply, and this time caught the small smile that crossed Takao’s face; even if he’d made an effort to turn away.

“He is,” was his reply; straightforward and honest, and maybe with a trace of admiration thrown in there in equal measure, “Seriously.”

_He’ll give you a run for your money; that’s for sure._

“Good,” Kagami decided firmly, taking another cake without further ceremony. Warmth began to simmer in his blood at the very notion as he remembered the careless way he’d been handled –the easy, jaded way the man had avoided his blows and turned aside all his efforts to break free. That would make it _so_ much more satisfying on the day when he landed a blow on that insufferable bastard’s arrogant face. That’d teach him to underestimate him –to belittle him; to make him feel like a _fool_ trying to escape from him.

And maybe Takao had hazarded a little of what he was thinking, because he grinned; wide and honest and with a flash of warmth.

“Hey Kagami?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m _really_ glad you didn’t punch me.”

And as the servant slipped out the door with a small smirk and a playful wink, Kagami found himself unconsciously reply, “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re the worst.”

Iwamura raised an eyebrow, glancing down to where Wakamatsu and Kasuga were lounging quite amiably against the doorframe of Kagami’s room –the former looking incredibly put out, and the latter looking like he’d been suffering through said pouting for a reasonable amount of time already. Kasuga swatted Wakamatsu half-heartedly from his side of the door frame and glanced up at their comrade apologetically.

“ –Quit your complaining,” he snorted with a roll of his eyes, “Kimura and Kobori already promised to save us some food.”

“I don’t see why Kobori can’t be on guard duty,” Wakamatsu snorted hotly, “He doesn’t even _like_ parties.” He gestured up at Iwamura accusatively, “The party of the year, and this guy comes along and rubs it in my face that I’m not going!”

“Captain's orders,” Iwamura pointed out, "He wanted me to come check on you before I headed down."

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy your stinking party…”

“Bitterness doesn’t suit you, Wakamatsu.”

“How come Tsugawa gets to go; the little shit,” Wakamatsu cursed, taking no pains to prove that he was anything but bitter, “I hope he gets drunk and you punch him.”

Iwamura stared down at Wakamatsu’s stormy eyes for a moment, sighed, and then turned his attention to the more reasonable guard currently on duty.

“How’s Kagami doing?” he inquired, “Behaving himself?” His gaze flicked between the pair of guards for a moment, “I hope no one has been cheating him out of his food again.”

“ –Why does everyone seem to think _I’m_ a dirty cheat??” Wakamatsu snapped, taking offense.

“Because you are.”

“Fuck you, Kasuga. You know Iwamura’s worse.”

“ –He’s behaving,” Kasuga assured their friend, jerking his thumb towards the door, “It was touch and go there for a while because he kept losing at cards, but we’re letting him sulk it out.”

“Okay, well; good to know you’ve got everything covered here,” Iwamura nodded, before frowning a little disapprovingly at how casually they were slouched –and in their ceremonial armour no less, which was a requirement for all castle guards on nights of big celebrations regardless of whether or not they would be in attendance. “But don’t let Susa catch you slouching like that,” he advised as an afterthought. The pair of them looked up at him rather quizzically –as though seeing no problem in how they were slumped against the walls like beggars in their finest black armour and elegant maroon cloaks –not at all poised how one would think a solemn guard on duty should be.

“Jeez,” he snorted, shaking his head slightly, “The Second Captain would probably _kill_ you if he saw you.” The two of them looked up at him as if to say ‘ _yeah, but he’s not here, and you’re not gonna report us_ ’, and pointedly didn’t make an effort to look any more official. Well, he couldn’t begrudge them. Guard duty was dry, they were missing out on an evening of drinking, entertainment and good food, and it was a lot harder to play cards through the door when you were standing.

“Have a good evening, then,” he bid, without spite, but knew that Wakamatsu probably wouldn’t see it that way. Predictably, he huffed and glared up at him, but waved him off nonetheless. Privately, Iwamura did feel a  _little_ bad for the pair of them --a night of drinking with the rest of the guard was an event not to be missed; even if half of them always ended up drunk out of their minds and getting up to mischief. And then paying for it in hangovers the following day. Doubly, if their straight-laced Second Captain caught them grumbling, or (gods so help them) _slacking off_ because of it. But with him currently absent and all... _well_ , they were free to drink to their heart's content.

Well, most of them, apparently. 

Wakamatsu wondered if he'd done something to offend his captain. He had to have. That was really the only plausible reason why he'd set him here; on the very night that promised to be filled with all the things that he loved in life --booze, food, women, and the occasional brawl for good measure. Sure, there would be other nights, but being one of the few guards left out from the revelries was a bit of a kick in the face. He'd taken his fair share of heavy punches in the line of duty --he deserved a  _break_ , dammit. 

But when the sound of Iwamura’s heavy footsteps vanished down the hallway, he had to resign himself to the fact that the kind of break he wanted didn't appear to feature in his immediate future. Lamenting the loss of what could have been an excellent evening, he groaned, slumping lower down the wall. 

“Why does Susa keep sticking me here?” he complained crossly, running a gloved hand down his face, “Seriously, it’s like I’m doing double shifts these days.”

“He thinks the two of you seem to get along,” Kasuga replied with a small, dry smile, glancing towards the door. Wakamatsu immediately looked offended.  

“We do not.”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” he shrugged, and then chuckled as he elbowed his comrade, “Admit it. You kinda like the kid.” Wakamatsu spluttered at the accusation, eyes going wide as he went to protest, but Kasuga was already laughing. 

“…I’d like him a whole lot more if he didn’t hit me quite so much,” he finally admitted in a grumble; his cheek still smarted every so often from that heavy head-butt that Kagami had been so pleased about. As much as he’d cursed him blind over it, he had to admit it had been one hell of a shot. And sure, maybe the kid wasn’t so bad some of the time, but that didn’t mean he’d rather hang out with him through a door than be out at a party with the rest of his fellow guards.

He sighed, and looked up at the roof wistfully as he considered just how much alcohol he could be consuming right now instead of sitting in an empty hall, “Ugh, I wonder how the party’s going. Say what you want about Lord Kise, but he throws a good party.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t be speaking so casually about Lord Kise,” Kasuga pointed out quietly, though secretly he shared the sentiment. He lowered his voice slightly, “…He’s got men loyal to him, you know, and you never know where they might be.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Wakamatsu groused in a mutter. “But I gotta say; I always have a pretty good time at his parties.” He sounded so full of longing –yearning for ale and food and the company of women. Kasuga couldn’t deny that he shared the sentiment.

“Same. My hangover lasted three days last year.” Well, neither of them would miss that feeling, at least. “ –And Otsubo spent all night trying to figure out how to seal the deal with that lady friend of his…”

“ _Gods_ ,” Wakamatsu snorted with a helpless grin, “He’s _still_ trying to figure it out!”

“Someone should really tell him that she’d literally marry him if he just asked,” Kasuga sighed.

“Yeah, someone should,” he admitted, pausing dramatically before the pair of them laughed at their poor comrade’s obliviousness and impossibly and unfortunately static love life. After a moment, Kasuga let out a heavy sigh, and then, with the amusement dying on his face, cocked his head intently, frowning.

“Something wrong?” Wakamatsu inquired, eyes narrowing as he mirrored him, “You hear something?”

“No,” Kasuga replied, but his frown didn’t fade, “…I was just thinking that Kagami’s been awfully quiet.” To prove a point, he pressed a finger to his lips and descended into silence, and when there was no sign of movement from inside the room, Wakamatsu’s lips hardened into a thin line and he rapped on the door with a fist.

“Oi, Kagami,” he hollered out, banging again. “Quit your sulking. Kimura’s gonna bring us cake later so I’ll play you for it.”

No answer.

“ –I’ll even go easy on you this time.”

More silence.

Wakamatsu suddenly had a very bad feeling –one that urged him to turn the key in the lock and leap up to unbolt the door. Kasuga made no move to protest; hurrying to his feet and dragging the heavy door open –

\--To reveal a room not all that out of the ordinary except for the distinct lack of a redheaded prince, and the presence of a very ominous length of knotted bedsheets that all too tellingly vanished out of the window. Kasuga sighed heavily. Wakamatsu groaned.

“Oh fuck.”

“Oh you have got to be fucking _kidding_ me.”

 

* * *

 

 

If Imayoshi was honest with himself, there really was quite a lot to enjoy about parties.

He enjoyed the food and the readily available supply of alcohol. The music was always undeniably pleasant, if predictable, and the gossip positively delightful. And he always garnered a great deal of amusement out of watching those around him imbibing what could only be an ill-advised quantity of alcohol.

The company he could care less for.

The small talk for one thing was a right nightmare –every noble and his son figured that a social event was a wonderful opportunity –an invitation, even –to rub noses with royalty and earn their graces. And of course Imayoshi endured it all as best he could and with as much wine as possible, but if he had to listen to one more nobleman talk finances –specifically, their own –he was probably going to drown himself in a keg of ale. Literally, or figuratively, he hadn’t quite decided yet. Literally seemed the better way to go –who knew it was so frowned upon for the upper class to get drunk out of their mind these days. The wine was flowing so freely and for some strange reason the nobles seemed determined to subtly undermine each other by proving they could hold their liquor better; and yet whosoever made a right fool of themselves would undoubtedly be the laughing stock of the castle –presumably behind their backs, in most cases –until the next party came along and another poor, overeager chump took the spotlight.

In that regard, Imayoshi was a little envious of the palace guard, and any of the soldiers who happened to be well-connected enough to receive an invitation to the festivities. He knew they were all good men; good soldiers who took their jobs very seriously, but he had it on good faith that when a keg or two of ale was mixed in with the lot they made for a rowdy bunch of scoundrels of the best kind. They were always in high spirits, and would inevitably wind up too drunk for their own good –laughing as they drunk each other under the table and trying their best to sneak away with a maid or the coy daughter of a nobleman at the end of the night.

Ah, those were the days.

Imayoshi took another nostalgic sip of his wine as he gazed out across the courtyard. It was an impressive spread; no doubt. Lord Kise always aimed to impress, and frankly –as much as Imayoshi hated to admit it –never failed to deliver. Personally, the décor was a little tacky for his taste –there was far too much crystal, and the solid marble bust of his son; handsome as he might be, was a little too much –but he couldn’t deny that if the man was looking to show off his wealth, (which he was), he’d have been highly successful.

Even so, Imayoshi was _bored_.

Not bored out of his mind, so to speak –being at least three wines deep was certainly helping –but enough so that his eyes kept flitting back to a bench packed fit to bursting with rowdy soldiers and the odd arrogant noble brat who seemed to think he could hold his liquor. How delightful. They’d be shown a thing or two when the drinking challenges started –the aim, more often than not, being nothing more than to consume as much alcohol as possible, and keep it down.

Sometimes, when he forgot that he was a king, and not really supposed to be doing that sort of thing, he thought about seeing if he could still give some of them a run for their money. After all, he had rather fond memories of such things –of the old roaming gypsy markets that had breezed by every few seasons; the kind with roaring fires and jaunty bands and the kind of drinking that still, in hindsight, made him queasy. The wine had been strong and the food endless, and every time there was a noble foolish enough to try outdrink a gypsy. He’d never been a dancer, but he’d danced around a fire or two in his hay-day; woken up in a barn with straw in his hair and a pretty girl in his arms more than once or twice –and borne witness to his fair share of drunken disasters.

But alas, a king he was –and his family, his prickly attendant, and all the rich, pompous nobles he took so much joy in slighting would never let him hear the end of it if he set aside his crown for a night and drank himself into a stupor.

So, there he was, lounging as carelessly as he could in the nightmare of a throne Lord Kise had allocated to him; Midorima lingering at his side as the king made nice with his fellow nobles; at all times listening with sly ears to whatever whispers took his fancy. And, of course, watching over the proceedings with a practiced eye; waiting in a kind of shrewd anticipation for whatever might make his evening just a little less mundane. 

After all, the best part of a party was when something went wrong.

Although, seeing that his daughter was enjoying herself about as much as him was definitely a close second. And seeing her being dragged across the dancefloor in the chubby arms of a man with as many left feet as he had chins, perhaps made him snicker just a little too loudly.

“Oh, don’t they just look so _dashing_ together?” he tittered playfully to his attendant –catching his daughter’s eye across the room and receiving very little warmth from her. His smirk widened with a touch of glee, and he glanced up at Midorima for affirmation. Of course, the younger man was not so obliging, and evenly met his gaze with his nose curled up in equal measures of scepticism and disgust. But Imayoshi just chuckled into his glass and turned back to the room hoping to catch Satsuki’s eye again as the musicians struck up a new song. He was in luck –she was already taking pains to excuse herself from the dancefloor. And of course she did it while maintaining the picture of elegance –her words undoubtedly dainty and kind as she turned away his request of another dance with a practiced graciousness that was to be expected of a young woman who routinely turned away suitors left and right. But when she eventually managed to dissuade her various admirers to make a beeline for her father, she did not look impressed.

Imayoshi was sure that he looked the absolute picture of innocence, but as Satsuki took her seat to his right –much cushier than his own, he’d earlier noted –she didn’t look fooled in the slightest. She smiled gratefully at the servant who laid a dainty glass of wine in her hand, but sent a disapproving sidelong look towards her father.

“Father, that’s your fourth wine,” she remarked all-too conversationally, as she raised her glass to her lips for a sip.

“Oh, isn’t this wonderful, Midorima,” he simpered lightly, a hand pressed to his chest like a father might when he was particularly proud of his young daughter, “ –It appears that my sweet daughter can count too.” He sent his attendant a pointed look –one that told of how he had been reminded a few too many times of just how many glasses of wine he’d enjoyed so far. Predictably, Midorima ignored the taunt, and merely adjusted his glasses as he turned to eye the proceedings with ill-concealed displeasure. He hadn’t touched a drop of wine all evening, and did not seem at all fond of the drunken ruckus that was rising up from one of the tables of soldiers situated at the opposite end of the courtyard. In fact, it wouldn’t have been outrageous to claim that he was currently the most uncomfortable person at the affair.

“Come now, Midorima,” Imayoshi tutted, inclining his head and smirking at the sour expression on his attendant’s face, “Let them have their fun. We’re at a party, after all.” He gestured to the kegs of ale stacked around the edges of the courtyard, adding with light condescension, “Do feel free to enjoy yourself.”

Midorima did not seem to share his enthusiasm.

“A pity,” the king mused mournfully, shaking his head when it appeared that his attendant was steadfastly lingering at his side and had no intention of joining the crowd. “Lord Kise has wine to spare, and I’m sure that there’s a lovely girl out there who would _love_ to dance with a…” He paused a moment to appraise the stony-faced young man at his side –drinking in the stern curl of his lips and the haughty steel in his eye, “…A man, such as yourself.”

It was like talking to a stone cliff face. One that could glare.

“I have no interest in such… _frivolous_ …things,” Midorima replied flatly, adjusting his glasses and looking down his nose at the way his king was leaning into the palm of his hand rather curiously.

“Is that so, hmm?” Imayoshi hummed, raising an eyebrow mockingly, “Well, careful now, or I’ll start thinking that the reason you’re not out there pursuing some delightful creature is that you’re already enamoured with my lovely daughter.”

Well now, if didn’t that cause Midorima to make the most interesting face –almost like he found the mere thought _laughable_ , but also sort of pinched, like he’d eaten something bitter.

Satsuki too, looked about as perplexed as any daughter did when her father made a particularly bad joke, and it pleased him greatly.

“He’s not in love with me, father,” she sniffed, rolling her eyes and huffing slightly as though even the thought was ludicrous.

“A crying shame,” her father deadpanned, eyes rolling skywards as he took a long sip from his glass. He licked his lips and savoured the sweet taste for a moment and then glanced at her with a touch of boredom flickering back to life. “But dance with him, would you?” When she simply stared back at him as though not understanding, he merely quirked his lips up at the corners and gestured vaguely towards his attendant. “…With Midorima.”

“ _Father_.”

“Oh _hush_ now, Satsuki,” he tittered, rather enjoying the look of vehement exasperation reflected in her bright eyes. “I’m only joking,” he assured her, and gave her just enough time to relax again before adding, a little quieter, and a little pleased with himself, “…I’ve promised your next dance to Lord Harasawa.”

As expected, she looked suitably indignant.

“ _Father, no_.”

“Come now, Satsuki, he’s a handsome man,” he reminded her. “Virile too,” he added offhandedly, and she blushed right up her cheeks to her lashes, “…He’s got the four particularly striking sons to prove it.”

“He’s even older than _you_ ,” she hissed under her breath, and there was a look in her eyes that seemed to be begging for him to admit that this was just another one of his jokes. “Father, not again –” 

“Oh, but you looked like you were having such a lovely time with Lord Takeuchi,” he snickered, and she pouts as much as a princess was permitted to. “I must say; I have never seen _anything_ move quite like that…” Protesting in her own way, his daughter stuck her nose in the air and pointedly looked away from him; hands folded passively in her lap. He chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes; only to catch sight of the Lord Harasawa himself striding towards them –tall, dark, and impeccably dressed.

Of course, he knew that Satsuki would try to refuse a dance; although why, he couldn’t fathom. Lord Harasawa was by no means an unattractive man or a bad dancer, and had been admirably nonchalant about that the whole… _business_ with his second eldest and a certain _difficult_ and rather indiscrete nephew of Imayoshi’s. Overall, he was a pleasant fellow. Sometimes he wondered if she did it to spite him. He wouldn’t put it past her; she had to have inherited at least a touch of her personality from him, after all. But if he told Lord Harasawa that she would be delighted to accept, then she had no choice but to accept, and at least act believably delighted to do so.

There had to be some perks to being a father, after all.

So of course, his daughter was whisked off to the dancefloor on the arm of a noble gentleman –eyes narrowing at her father in a way that meant that he was probably going to suffer for his games one day.

Ahh, that was a problem for another time.

“Come to think of it,” he mused dryly, mulling over Harasawa’s parting words expressing his sincere regret that the prince had been unable to make an appearance at the party. “Where is that dear nephew of mine?” he took a sip of his wine and adding, with audible irony, “I hope he’s not getting into mischief.”

“He’s…” Midorima paused, his mouth curling around the word as though it tasted unpleasant, “… _Indisposed_." 

 _Shocking_. Truly shocking.

No doubt Lord Kise would be insulted that the Prince of Touou hadn’t deigned to make an appearance at his party –but inwardly relieved all the same time that he wasn’t there to make a right, royal mess of the evening.

Now, why couldn’t his nephew maintain a _little_ sense of decorum in the public eye? Even the Lord Kise –who irked Imayoshi to no end –had managed to raise himself a son who was well-liked, well-mannered, and who (if he was sneaking around like young men his age were prone to do) at least knew the meaning of discretion. Said son; a particularly comely young man with vibrant blonde hair and an equally bright smile was currently flirting up a storm across the room, with what could only be described as a _horde_ of pretty-faced young noblewomen –never favouring one over the other and ensnaring them all with his charm. His father, stationed over by that horrifically tacky statue of his son, seemed pleased –the smug bastard.

Imayoshi grimaced as he downed his glass of wine so he wouldn’t have to think about what a nightmare it would be to have to sit through another endless tirade from the Lord himself about how talented and perfect his son was.

Satsuki still wasn’t going to marry him.

“Is the wine really that bad?” a familiar, deep voice remarked from nearby; tinged with amusement, and Imayoshi glanced over to see his Third Captain loping over towards him; a tankard of ale in one hand and his cheeks definitely looking a touch rosier than usual.

“You know, Susa, it’s refreshing to hear you speak so frankly,” Imayoshi chuckled lightly as he held out his empty glass for Midorima to (reluctantly) allow him a refill. “And the wine is perfectly adequate. I’m sure your men can attest to that.” He nodded out towards the crowd in no particular direction, seeing as the guards and soldiers were beginning to scatter about; seeking food and booze and the warm embrace of a woman.

“That they can,” Susa admitted, though not without a grimace that heavily implied that he’d already had to deal with a couple of his subordinates who hadn’t been able to quite keep up with the rest of the pack, so to speak. “They’ve had a… _productive_ evening so far.” It was both worrying and impressive how much wine his fellows had managed to churn through already. He’d narrowly managed to prevent two brawls so far, and no one had fallen down the stairs yet, which he considered a victory, and he’d even somehow been roped into some ridiculous scheme to get Otsubo alone with the pretty young lady that rumour had it, he was trying to court.

 _Trying_ , being the key word. Susa wasn’t married, and he didn’t consider himself an expert at courting, by any means, but it felt like the whole process had been going on an awfully long time with not a lot of progress. Even now, he could see them sitting together at one of the more reserved tables –a respectable distance apart, of course; though that seemed more Otsubo’s doing than anything else. Maybe he’d actually manage to ask the poor girl to dance, this time.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like fate was on Otsubo’s side tonight, because before he had the chance to extend a hand to offer the young lady a dance, one of his fellow soldiers materialised at his side and tapped him on the shoulder.

How inopportune. And a little rude, considering Susa had been under the impression that literally the entire palace guard was holding out for Otsubo to get his girl. And not only did he interrupt, but he lingered. He lingered, and Susa watched him whisper something in Otsubo’s ear –and then, as though nothing had happened, he vanished back into the crowd.

 _Strange_.

Even stranger was the fact that Otsubo left his seat only a few moments later.

Then the whispering started.

It was subtle; muted –not at all like those hushed whispers that ran through crowds of nobles when scandals ran amok. No, this was different –this was a secret being passed around the men under Susa’s command like a stolen bottle of whiskey; subtle and sneaky so as not to draw attention to it. It was a lone soldier sidling through the crowd and tapping one of his comrades on his shoulder; leaning in close and sharing something in hushed tones and then slipping off again without ceremony.

And Susa watched the chain with growing apprehension; watched the way his men shifted through the crowd; watched the whisper fan out across the courtyard; travelling from guard to guard and spreading down tables like a plague.

“This is not good,” he muttered aloud, shaking his head as he watched the trail of guards and the whisper it carried reach Iwamura. “Oh, this is not good.”

“…Something wrong, Susa?” his king inquired curiously, from where he was gazing rather blithely out into the crowd. There was no way that the strange movements of the guard hadn’t caught his attention, but when Iwamura glanced up, gaze directly locking onto Susa’s; his expression conveying the state of affairs fairly clearly, the Third Captain figured he might as well humour him, for irony’s sake. 

“Oh, take three guesses.”

This was getting out of hand. And honestly, Susa kind of thought that his king would share his resignation –after all, he seemed so weary of Kagami’s antics every time he had to report to him –but for some reason (and it was never a good idea to dwell on that sort of thing), Imayoshi looked almost _pleased_.

“Wonderful,” he said, taking a delicate sip of his wine, as though he’d just witnessed the opening scene of a particularly engrossing play. He was smiling –and that was probably not a good sign.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” Susa commented, setting his drink down and bowing to take his leave from his side. Iwamura hadn’t dropped his gaze, and he had the feeling that it was only a matter of time before the guards were going to have to swarm out into the castle, “I believe I have business to attend to.”

“Very well,” Imayoshi replied, a little too flippantly, “Oh but Susa…” He paused, almost contemplatively. “…Don’t alarm the nobles, will you?” he added, swirling his wine in one hand and eyeing up the crowded courtyard perhaps a little too keenly, “It would be…such a _shame_ if something were to ruin the good Lord Kise’s festivities.” 

Susa wondered if all kings were like this, or if he just happened to be serving the exception.

He could at least _pretend_ like he meant it.

 

* * *

 

It was a clear night, yet deeper in the castle the halls were thick with thunder.

It was the kind born of clangouring armour and the drumming of heavy boots upon stone, but all the same, it swelled up in the late summer air like the ominous, far-off rumble of a rising storm. And when the clouds broke, it rained black and red. 

Armoured, breathless guards barrelled down the empty castle hallways; their maroon cloaks billowing out behind them and sweat pouring into their eyes –a blur of crimson hurtling ahead of them like wildfire and leaving them all in its wake.

Kagami tore on blindly; his lungs searing like every next breath might be his last. But he couldn’t afford to rest; couldn’t risk slowing, because there were palace guards already hot on his tail and pursuing him with a fervour he hadn’t known they possessed. This was their hunt, and he was the beast they so coveted –one that they seemed determined would not slip through their grasp again. 

It had been Wakamatsu who had spotted him –and Wakamatsu who had first given chase. And to his credit, he’d kept up –nearly apprehending him a handful of times –and hadn’t, even for a moment, let up in his pursuit. And now Kagami’s legs ached like nothing else; his ankles stung with every heavy stride, and his skin burned like he was sweltering in the midday sun –but he didn’t hate it, and he didn’t let it stop him.

He ached, sure, and his limbs were crying out for him to fall, but he could feel the evening wind on his face; he could hear the echo of men cursing his name with urgency, but without malice. He could feel the thrum of his heart pounding out of his chest; beating in time to the blood churning in his ears –roaring like a gale and burning like fire.

_The kind of heat that reminded him that he was alive._

He felt, rather than saw, the desperate hand reaching up from behind him –clawing at him as if to pull him back –and it made him look.

Of course it was Wakamatsu lunging for him –his black, gloved hand outstretched and something wild and focused flickering in his brown eyes. He was close enough that Kagami could see that ferocity laid bare –could count the beads of sweat racing trails down his jaw; could see in his face that he was a man worthy of being a soldier. The armour he was wearing must have been weighing him down something awful, but he was still keeping pace, and it suddenly struck Kagami that maybe if he hadn’t been –if the circumstances were _fairer_ , so to speak –then he might’ve even caught him by now.

Maybe.

 _Not a chance_ , Kagami immediately scoffed to himself; his red eyes flashing defiantly against Wakamatsu’s gaze. And maybe to Wakamatsu they looked like an inferno on a dark horizon, because his expression narrowed to an ominous scowl –one that a parent might wear when they know that a child is about to disobey them.

One that warns all too clearly, _don’t you dare_.

But he should’ve known better. He should’ve known by now that warnings and threats were futile, because in that moment, with sweat dripping down his face; drenching his long bangs to his forehead and soaking his shirt to his skin, Kagami smirked.

It was fleeting; different from the smug looks the redhead sometimes sent his way when he’d landed a particularly satisfying punch. And if Wakamatsu had been a poetic breed of man, he might have said that whatever had flashed in his eyes right then was lightning; just as fleeting –just as bright –and made the very air around them crackle with static. But that was all he had the chance to see, because an instant later Kagami shot off down the hallway like an arrow loosed from its string, and Wakamatsu was left clutching at thin air and gawking at the figure slowly pulling ahead.

And that was when he heard the music, and his blood ran cold.

 _Fuck_.

Not here. Not now.

Gods, _no._ The one place in the castle that they’d been desperate to herd Kagami away from, and he’d found it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will apologise if things are getting repetitive at all, and I hope that I'm not boring you. (It might be obvious but writing Imayoshi at the moment is one of my favs). We've got lots to learn about, and I promise, I promise, things are gonna start getting different.  
> Starting from now, apparently.  
> Because who can guess what's gonna happen next?  
> Leave a comment; let me know! (I swear that any little message at all seriously makes my day!)  
> Hope you enjoyed! See you next chapter~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather overdue, I'm afraid. And was a little too long, so now it's been split in two. And was also the chapter with a chase scene that made me realise I can't write chase scenes, so there's that. But, I hope you enjoy! Sorry for it's late update; hopefully it was at least a little worth the wait!~

Now, Imayoshi had been waiting the better part of the evening –and with bated breath, at that –for the whole affair to take a turn for the worst.

It wasn’t exactly that he _wanted_ Lord Kise’s special event to be remembered as a fiasco of cataclysmic proportions and the Lord himself thus regarded as a fool…except that it was. Not only was the night in sore need of a few unexpected happenings to keep ( _make_ ) things really interesting, but it was always so much easier to deal with pompous men when they were –at least temporarily –the laughing stock of the castle.

In fairness, he would have undoubtedly felt the same regardless of whatever noble family name had been attributed to the event. He would be among the first to admit (aloud, at least –he knew that it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that the servants privately shared the sentiment) that Touou nobility could be quite the insufferable lot sometimes. And as their king, he felt he had every right to wish ridicule upon them every once in a while.

Lord Kise in particular though, had been unfortunate enough to draw undue attention to himself in days of late. He was a man with a rather loud and grating voice, and the wealth, breeding, and self-importance of a man who was used to always being heard and heeded. So of course, Imayoshi took great delight in handling him in much the same way as his wife had; neither hearing nor heeding him. It was becoming increasingly difficult though, he had to say –the man was wearisomely insistent on arranging a match with the daughter of a man who he’d once sworn himself blue in the face was –although admittedly of noble birth; not of a stock noble _enough_ to be a suitable consort for a queen.

And when Satsuki wasn’t the topic of conversation, it was her cousin and his outlandish ways –so improper; so _common_ ; so _unbecoming_ of a member of the royal family. Or maybe it was the servants and how they were far too entitled for his tastes, or the fact that the city that lay beyond the castle was a complete eyesore, or that the military standards were plummeting, or how it was a crying _disgrace_ that there were still low-born men who did not know their place.

Or, most recently (and along a similar line, in fact); how much of a right _farce_ it was for a mere _pauper_ to marry _true_ royal blood. 

Sometimes the man made it particularly difficult to remember that both his daughter and his late wife vehemently disapproved of killing off people just because he was the king and could make that sort of thing happen –but he figured that there wasn’t anything too _morally_ _questionable_ about merely sending him off to Kirisaki Daiichi where his breed of blatant belligerence would not be looked upon favourably.

But he just _knew_ that Satsuki would never let him hear the end of it. And, more worryingly; Hanamiya might just find that frankness refreshing. _Gods_ , he would probably even play nice just to spite him, the little spider.

In any case, it was perhaps a little fitting, then, that it was the brazen young prince himself –the one without a kingdom or a penny to his name, and who the _esteemed_ Lord Kise so disapproved of –that quite literally brought the evening crashing down around them.

As much as Imayoshi detested Hanamiya, he felt like he owed him his sincerest of gratitudes, because Kagami Taiga was a gift that just kept on giving.

After all, there was nothing quite like a rebellious young royal wreaking havoc upon an otherwise reasonably uneventful evening.

 

* * *

 

It would have felt like a clever pantomime put on especially for their entertainment, but for the simple fact that there was just no way to script this kind of madness.

Imayoshi was, nonetheless, entertained.

How could he not be? Oh, what a _show_. The sheer _uproar_ that had erupted as soon as the crowd of nobles had caught a glimpse of the young man –little more than a streak of red against stone –well, that had been music to his ears; the kind of opening score that held great promise for the performance ahead. He had to commend Kagami; he really did –he played his part so well. Seeing him hurtle down the balconies that ringed the courtyard with eyes so ablaze was truly _inspiring_ , and with such single-minded focus that for a moment Imayoshi almost believed for a moment that he might make it.

But of course he wouldn’t. No matter how fast he ran, or how far, or how fine a game he led his guards, they would always catch him. But, in the briefest of moments when Imayoshi caught sight of Kagami’s face –so staunchly gazing towards the horizon as though it might just rise up before him, he understood that the young prince didn’t believe that.

He didn’t look down. He never looked down –never spared the crowd in the courtyard below him a second glance despite having drawn their undivided attention. And at first Imayoshi thought that it was out of arrogance –that Kagami thought that they weren’t worth the time –but he was the kind of man that could see what others didn’t want him to see --and took glee in such things --and there was something that that indomitable whirlwind of red up there –beating upon stone and leaving good, strong men in his dust –wouldn’t let anyone see.   

It was disguised as anger and bitterness, but those were always the easiest things to see through when one thought to look. And since Kagami seemed to think that no one was looking, Imayoshi glimpsed something wretched cross his face; as though he was running from more than just the guards behind him. It was the look a street urchin wore when stall vendors hurled stones their way; the look a scruffy gypsy brat –unused to the unkindness of cities –tried to hide when they were called names by wicked children with good names and rich parents.

But even so, he kept his head held high and his jaw gritted tight, and his eyes burned with a fever that had Imayoshi transfixed despite himself –and might have almost fooled him if he’d been watching any less curiously.

There was trouble looming on Kagami’s horizon, though, and it was black and red, and swarmed towards him like flies to a corpse. And Imayoshi tracked the exact moment that the redhead realised with horror and frustration that his way was barred.

 _“Fuck!_ ”

The vehement curse split the night as he swerved violently, and gasps rang out from the crowd; all enthralled, horrified and disgusted in equal parts. Kagami’s movements had them all shifting on edge –eyes nervously darting after his every step as though at any moment he might plummet from the balcony and descend upon them like a beast incensed.

In hindsight, they were probably right to worry.

With guards closing in on him from both sides, Kagami skittered, trying to change direction –trying to veer back the way he had come. But alas, that was a path no longer open to him; his pursuers closing in on him and penning him within ranks of guards like an animal trapped and caged. And as much as the king took great delight in seeing him run his guards a fine game around the balconies, there was something so _satisfying_ about the look of sheer _fury_ on the young prince’s face when he realised that the guards had him trapped between a wall and a balcony with nowhere left to run. 

Well, almost nowhere. And it seemed that Imayoshi was not the only one to realise it.

“Kagami, don’t –”

Wakamatsu’s familiar, and frankly rather breathless voice rose up over the courtyard, but he didn’t have time to finished whatever warning, threat or plea he’d been about to blurt out, because an instant later it was swallowed up by the cacophony of shrieks that pierced the night –

–As Kagami, without hesitation, swiftly flung himself over the balustrades and right into the heart of the courtyard below.

And that was when the anarchy truly unfolded, in all its chaotic glory.

Nobles scattered like insects as Kagami launched himself off the balcony and into their midst; hurtling back to earth with all the intensity and destructive potential as a falling meteor.

…Only to immediately and rather unimpressively plough into a heavy, oak table; skidding along it headfirst in an ungodly din of shattering dishes. Chairs careened backwards as anyone in the immediate vicinity scampered away from danger. The table itself held fast though, shaking precariously and groaning under his weight as he scrabbled wildly for purchase amongst the mush of food scraps around him. He slipped twice –maybe more –and for a moment, Imayoshi almost pitied him for it, because no man so desperately trying to scramble to his feet deserved to be defeated by mashed vegetables.

But then he was back on his feet in a flurry of flying glasses and expensive crockery; food and wine flying in all directions. The crowd withdrew with a horrified, disgusted gasp in unison as he turned, red gaze settling on the guards still positioned like ominous black ghosts in the balcony above him. Despite how much of a fool he looked coated in food scraps as he was, there was no denying the defiance in his stance, and the triumph glinting in his eyes as he stared with heat up at his guards.

(Imayoshi was a little amused to note that where a few of the guards looked shocked, more looked impressed, with several –Kasuga and Wakamatsu to name but a few –looking more _exasperated_ than anything.)

He took a sip of his wine and licked his lips curiously as he watched the crowd begin to swirl –watched them draw back and shy away from the mess. But there were others –and they were the ones that Kagami couldn’t afford to lose track of –they were approaching him; weaving through the crowd with probably a touch of difficulty –but approaching, nonetheless. Imayoshi allowed himself a small, almost thoughtful hum as he appraised the situation.

 _Well, now, young prince,_ he mused to himself, as movement up on the balconies seemed to catch the redhead’s eye. It would only be a matter of time before the guards that he’d left so high and dry up there found his way back to him. _They’re all coming for you. What will you do now_?

Predictably, he ran.

And from there, it was like watching a marvellous play turn to ruin before his very eyes –as though the leading role was being played by a Fool who neither knew the script nor the story. A certain disaster, no doubt, but entertaining in its own right nonetheless.

And a smiling Imayoshi had the best seat in the house.

“Father, _do something_!” Satsuki hissed from her seat beside him; her fingers clenched into the wood of the throne and worry dancing across her eyes. She flinched as something heavy, (and probably crystal from the way it shattered so crisply) toppled to the ground and sent shards scattering across stone. He spared her a small glance –only fleeting, because he was rather enjoying seeing his guards do battle with the expensive plates that were shattering most unceremoniously on their armour as Kagami hurtled down the length of the table.

“I _am_ doing something,” he informed her, holding up his glass of wine to prove a point. Her mouth fell open in protest, before snapping shut when she remembered that ladies shouldn’t gawk. He made a point of shifting in his seat to get a little more comfortable; crossing his legs with exaggerated casualness and a gleeful glint in his eye.

“What’s an evening without a little carnage – _oh_ would you just _look_ at that, Satsuki –” As if on cue, there came the kind of crackling roar that always heralded the ascent of an inferno, and an instant later, a column of flame tore up the length of a wall hanging and set it blazing. Ugly black smoke churned off it and sent soldiers and servants and nobles alike lurching away from it; coughing and wheezing and setting the nobles into a panic.

Who on earth kept hanging these abominations in his castle? The flames were an improvement.

\--Oh, but he’d rather liked that other one, he lamented as he watched the flame of another stray candle nick the dangling threads of a neighbouring tapestry and catch it alight. Such a pity.

But he had to admit, the backdrop of flames steadily creeping up the wall really did add to the melodrama quite nicely. It made for quite the scene –servants and soldiers scurrying around with buckets of water amidst shattered glasses and plates and spilled, wasted food. The air smelled like burning, and over the clamour kicked up by Kagami’s heavy steps drumming on the table, and the sound of flames hissing on thread, there was a symphony of shrieks and the angry shouting of guards and nobles trying to yell over each other, and the kind of cursing that could make a lady swoon.

Ahh, it really was a delight, watching them all scurry about like headless little hens; tripping over themselves and each other as they tried to both steer clear of Kagami’s warpath but keep watching, because as much as they detested being in his presence while he ran free, they wanted so very much to see him caught like the beast they saw him as.

To his guards’ credit, they almost caught him. Embarrassingly enough, that was only because he reached the end of the table and had nowhere to go but onwards and upwards over the precariously stacked barrels of wine that had been so dutifully intoxicating the party goers this evening. But the guards _almost_ caught him. He was either too quick for them or had fewer reservations regarding the stability of the pyramid of barrels.

Next to him, Satsuki drew a sharp breath as she too watched, transfixed, on the sight of a grown man clambering up a quivering tower of wine barrels with such intensity that he might as well have been climbing a mountain.

“I can’t watch…” she whispered, shaking her head but leaving her eyes bulging wide. Kagami aimed a kick at the face of a soldier who dared to come too close but when it didn’t connect he wobbled precariously atop his castle.

Some of the soldiers were laughing. 

Imayoshi personally felt that they were well within their rights to. There was a fully grown man clambering up a stack of wine barrels, covered in food scraps, dregs of wine, and soot, and cursing his mouth off at them. The only thing funnier, would be if one of the barrels were to break.

And because barrels are known for their impeccable comedic timing, the one beneath Kagami’s left foot, and bearing the brunt of his weight as he anchored himself to press on, did just that.

Kagami looked like he knew exactly what was going to happen. He didn’t look panicked. He didn’t look shocked. He just wore that resigned lookthat a man wears when he realises that his day is about to just get so, so much worse.

And then he fell. _Again_.

Only this time, it was with an _ungodly_ crash, and in an almighty flood of wine.

 

* * *

 

This whole _falling_ shit was getting _real_ old.

And this time _definitely_ hurt the most. There were splinters, and deep, stinging grazes where the jagged edges of broken wood had scraped all up his calf as he went down, and his head was pounding like he’d cracked it on something, and his very bones suddenly ached. Like he’d just tumbled out of a tree and hit every _goddamn_ branch on the way down.

It probably didn’t help that every muscle fibre in his body was screaming out in agony from the chase; begging for him to let his body rest and heal. But his blood was still hot with adrenaline, and it should never be underestimated how long fury can burn for. No matter how much he ached; no matter how many times he had to fall, he would claw his way back to his feet, and beyond. And if after all of that, he still had to fight, then he would fight.

He’d seen it in their faces, as they circled him upon the balcony –seen that they knew just as well as he did, that if it came to that, then there wouldn’t be a man who came out of the brawl without a little something to remember him by.

But that lay ahead. Right now, there was red blurring his vision, and his chest felt like he’d had the wind knocked clean out of him. His lungs were aching; screaming –desperate for air. By the gods, he wanted to groan; needed to _breathe_ –but when he tried to, he found to his horror that he _couldn’t_. He opened his mouth, but it wasn’t air that rushed in, but something too fruity, and rich, and that made his head swim. But he swallowed it regardless; helplessly let it pour down his throat and clog his nose until he gagged and retched, and his chest heaved with urgency; hungry for air.

It was a sensation he’d certainly felt before, but circumstantially, this was certainly a first.

_Drowning._

_In fucking_ wine.

Fucking _unbelievable._

 

* * *

 

“Father, this isn’t funny!” Satsuki exclaimed in horror, actually rising from her seat with concern while Imayoshi busied himself with pretending that he _hadn’t_ just snorted so hard he’d actually spat his wine back into his glass.

And he most certainly wasn’t still laughing.

“On the contrary,” he replied from behind a hand –a loose attempt at hiding a rather gleeful smirk, “It’s _incredibly_ funny.”

She hit him for that. Actually struck him. Well, it was more an irritated swat on the arm than anything, but he must have seriously irked to for her to do something so _unladylike_ in public. Not that they were at all the centre of attention in the meantime –someone else had stolen the show; and rather spectacularly, Imayoshi had to admit.

“Father, he’s not moving!”

“Now, now, he seems like the tenacious sort,” he placated flippantly as glanced briefly at the smouldering remains of what had admittedly been yet _another_ rather _ghastly_ tapestry. Hopefully their guest would be so kind as to set a few more of the ugly things on fire. He took a sip of his wine and then grimaced as he remembered the mouthful that he’d just spat back into it, “I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”

Admittedly, he didn’t _look_ ‘just fine’. Satsuki’s concern probably had some grounding, considering that the young prince was currently lying motionless amidst splintered barrels and a rather expansive, steadily spreading pool of what had been perfectly good wine. It was quite a ghastly looking scene, really –the tint of the wine too close to the shade of blood, and men and stone and Kagami alike all drenched in the stuff.

Kagami also wasn’t moving, which really brought the scene to life. Especially since Imayoshi’s sharp eyes could pick out the stutter of the redhead’s chest and the way wine seemed to be ebbing from his twitching throat as the pool drained around him.

“Mmm, perhaps I was mistaken,” he remarked with a small shrug, as though it didn’t matter either way, wondering if he would actually have to order one of his men to intervene before his nephew’s fiancé say, _died_.

Thankfully at least a few of them had enough sense to not let that sort of thing happen – _gods_ , what would Hanamiya say? (Well, he’d probably laugh, and then accuse Imayoshi of throwing aside his _generous_ offering, but that was hardly the point) –and after some apparent trepidation they were bending down at Kagami’s side and were dragging him upright as best they could. Wine spilled from his mouth in a red torrent and he suddenly jerked, retching as his chest pitched in what must have been relief. He shook as he coughed and spluttered; his whole body shaking and sagging into the guards that were propping him up as though he no longer had the strength to stand.

But when his eyes snapped open, the wicked gleam within them told an entirely different story.

Like a man possessed, or maybe some kind of feral beast, Kagami reared back with the full weight of his body, and wrenched away from the men loosely holding him. They careened off balance, and paid for their carelessness in pain when Kagami didn’t hesitate to sucker punch them.

Imayoshi winced when the blows landed, because no one could claim that the redhead pulled his punches, and from the way the guards who’d been struck doubled over, they were about as painful as they looked. And while they were incapacitated, Kagami made his move; launching himself forwards and blowing past the startled soldiers standing in his path. His bare feet kicked wine into the air as he ran –like a horse might kick up mud on a winter’s day –spattering the soldiers in crimson. It might as well have been mud, too, for all the luck they had in pursuing him through it; their boots heavy and slipping precariously on the stone.

And when their feet slid out from under them; the sound their armour made when they on face-planted most unbecomingly on the flooding stone –well, that was just priceless. Bogged down by their sodden cloaks and drenched finery, and trying their utmost to scramble to their feet, they looked –most unfortunately –more like a host of waterlogged rats than guards. 

“What did I tell you, Satsuki?” Imayoshi mused with a chuckle, watching the crowd part for their rebellious young guest as his feet trekked red across the clean stone and soldiers poured in from all directions to try and apprehend him. It seemed like such _madness_ from where he was sitting –nobles were rushing out of harm’s way but seemed somehow loathe to leave such a scene (and of course all having something to say about the affair), servants were scurrying around as inconspicuously as they could, collecting up anything precious that had not yet been destroyed (on Lord Kise’s orders no doubt). And his poor men down there were looking like right fools –being led a fine game by a single man; a brute drenched in wine and with eyes that burned with a brightness that he had not seen in a man in quite some time.

“He’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

 _Fine_ , as it turned out, was a relative term, and probably not the first word Kagami would have chosen to describe how his current escape was panning out.

Sure, he didn’t expect this to be easy; not after his previous run-ins with the castle guard. Freedom was always hard-won; he knew that. That was just a part of what would make it so sweet, and if there was nothing to overcome then there would be no way to grow stronger. But right then; as much as Kagami relished the burn in his blood, and as much as he was loath to admit weakness to himself…he didn’t exactly feel _fine_.

There wasn’t a bone in his body that hadn’t been battered, his windpipe stung from smoke, wine, and exhaustion, and there was wine dripping from his hair into his eyes and drying sticky on his skin. Not to mention, what felt like half the soldiers in the kingdom were after him, as he tore through a crowd of strangers with cold eyes –eyes that glinted with a familiar, hateful kind of scorn that he’d done nothing to earn.

It was an ice that never failed to make one thought burn with utmost clarity.

_He’d show them._

But the thing about running blindly through a crowd was that it was uncomfortably similar to being lost. And right now, he might as well have been treading uncharted waters amongst sharks.

Not very fast ones, apparently, or particularly solid, seeing as he’d already charged a few clean off their feet –but hunters, nonetheless. And if he didn’t watch where he was going, he was bound to run straight into their waiting hands –if he didn’t crash into the fucking décor or skid into a pile of food first. It was a fucking _nightmare –_ his bare feet; raw and burning from beating down upon stone, kept slipping in the slick swill of wine and meat and trodden-in vegetables that was spreading across the courtyard like creeping grime –and if he stepped wrong then he’d be _bathing_ in the stuff.

Wildfire burned in his gaze as he searched frantically, for an exit –an opening; _something_. And so fixated was he on finding that path that might lead him to freedom, that he dropped his guard–just for the merest of moments.

But that moment of distraction was all it took for a black blur with a maroon cloak fanning out behind it to blindside him with an almighty tackle –one that bowled him clean off his feet and knocked the wind clean out of his lungs all over again. Without ceremony, and little more than dead weight lurching through the air, the pair of them hurtled straight over the nearest table and, catching on the delicate table cloth, dragged it, and all it held, with them.

The crash was _horrendous_.

The crowd cringed back with tangible shock as they tumbled over one another; wood splintering and plates shattering and heavy candlesticks clanging in deep tolls on the stone. And, much like the crockery, fracturing as it landed, Kagami hit the ground _hard_ and felt his lungs jar in his chest at the impact. The open sky somewhere far above him swam; blurred stars dotting his vision as his head lolled uselessly and glazed red eyes fought to regain focus. A weight settled on his chest, and as a figure hazed into focus overhead, he tensed reflexively in anticipation of a crushing sensation that never came.

Instead, the weight just sat there; a firm but not unkind pressure, and he heard a voice.

“You just _had_ to do it, didn’t you, kid?” the voice gritted out with weary heat that made Kagami blink blearily in recognition. It took a moment, but the blur above him slowly began to sharpen against the backdrop of the sky, and he managed to make out the edges of a familiar face, positively _bristling_ down at him. But as irritated he looked, there was a kind of good-natured snicker in the way he snorted, almost as an afterthought, “You look fucking _terrible_ , Kagami.”

Well, didn’t he fucking know it?

Kagami groaned, letting his eyes roll again.

Of _course_ it was Wakamatsu who’d tackled him. Of _course_ he was the one pinning him down now; kneeling on his chest with weight enough to keep him there but not so much as to hurt him. Small mercies, he supposed. He strained, trying to lurch back to his feet, but Wakamatsu had at least had the foresight to pin his arms to the ground. The jerking motion caused the guard’s knee to press against his aching ribs, and pain briefly flashed across Kagami’s red eyes. A flicker of sympathy crossed Wakamatsu’s gaze, but he (wisely) didn’t ease back.  

“Let me up,” Kagami warned as viciously as he could while trying to regain his breath. It came out more slurred than he would’ve liked. Approaching guards flitted around the corners of his vision; their stances far too triumphant –or maybe simply relieved –and all-too close for his liking. Lips thinning, he glared up into Wakamatsu’s face meaningfully. “…Or you’ll regret it.”

Wakamatsu just grimaced, as if to say ‘ _you know I can’t do that’_ , and without letting his grip waver, gave a half-hearted attempt at a shrug.

So Kagami head-butted him.

 _Hard_.

It sounded _awful_ , and hurt like a _bitch,_ and he must’ve gotten Wakamatsu square on the nose because there was a sickening crunch that made the guard yowl like nothing else, and he was fairly sure that the blood that dripped down his brow and into one of his eyes wasn’t his. But it worked a treat, and in an instant Kagami was back on his feet and scrambling away while the blond soldier cupped his nose and tried to blink away tears of pain that had Kagami feeling, surprisingly, kinda bad.

But there was no helping it, really. And the small shrug he graced the soldier with said just that. Not that Wakamatsu saw it, or the fleeting flash of guilt that crossed Kagami’s red gaze –he was far too occupied with the new realms of pain dancing across his face.

No matter how many times he broke his nose, he never got used to it. It was a sharp, mind-numbing pain quite like no other, and it made his eyes sting and his head ring, and his entire face throbbed from cheek bone to cheek bone like his very skull wanted to cave in on itself.

His nose had never been his best feature, but at least it had used to sit straight.

With a colourful expletive, Wakamatsu spat out a mouthful of blood and tried his best to stagger to his feet while the room spun around him. He stumbled, once; bright spots flickering across his blurry vision, and when he tried to blink away tears, it hurt. His gauntlet was really doing nothing to stem the blood flow; merely collecting the torrent and smearing red across the leather, so he bunched up the corner of his cloak as best he could to staunch his nose before it could drip and add to the mess upon the stone. He pressed a little too hard, and flinched as bolts of pain flared along the cracks of his face.

Suddenly, a firm hand landed on his shoulder to steady him, and though he appreciated the gesture of support, Wakamatsu couldn’t help flinging a filthy glare at his comrade as his vision began to clear.

For what it was worth, Kasuga wasn’t laughing. But that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t amused.

“It’s not funny,” Wakamatsu spat; his voice muffled behind his cloak and his tongue tasting of the iron in his blood.

“I never said it was,” Kasuga replied, though his tone clearly indicated that he was saying it now.

“…The kid fucking _head-butted me_ ,” he fumed, tugging his cloak aside briefly to spit out a wad of blood, and noting to his relief that none of his teeth felt loose, “ _Again_.” Blood continued to flow from his nose in a steady stream so he was forced to set his makeshift rag back in place. “…Still healing from last time…when I get my fucking hands on him…”

“Now, now, let’s not say things we don’t mean,” Kasuga placated, moving to face his fellow soldier and tugging his wadded up cloak from his face to see the damage. By the look he was wearing, it wasn’t pretty. “…Want me to put your nose back in place?”

“What’s the fucking po – _gods, Kasuga, fuck, give me some warning!!_ ”

Kasuga dusted off his hands in satisfaction as Wakamatsu doubled over again, eyes misting over once more as he shielded his nose from any further injury –well-intended or otherwise. His nose throbbed all over again and sent a heavy pulse of pain right back through his skull, as it did every time he got it moved back into place. A low groan left his mouth and he let his chest heave a few times before straightening up.

“Where’s the kid?” he inquired flatly, a grimace plastered across his face and bruising already beginning to butterfly out across his cheeks; dried blood collecting on his chin, “Did they catch him?”

When Kasuga only grimaced back, he expected the worst. When he pointed, he figured he’d imagined it, and turned, expecting to see Susa and Iwamura wearily emerging from the crowd with a protesting Kagami being manhandled between them; the way their chases usually ran.

But that was not the scene he found.

In reality, the one that opened up before him was far different, and set a chill in his blood unbidden. 

Because as much as he wanted Kagami apprehended; as much as he wanted him back under guard and tucked away somewhere where he couldn’t cause trouble or threaten his future as a guard; as much as he wanted to give the kid a right _hiding_ for the right nuisance he’d made of himself tonight…

…He didn’t want to see this.

No one should want to see this.

And yet, everyone was staring. The crowd, ringed as it was with two figures at their centre, couldn’t seem to look away; like they were watching a scene from a particularly fucked up kind of play. The kind of play where a lowly runaway –far from home –tries to flee a crime; only to wind up with the hand of his pursuer locked tight around his throat. If there was such a play, he wouldn’t care to watch, because where some men took pleasure in seeing the strong turn helpless, Wakamatsu had never been one of them.

So he didn’t want to see thick fingers tighten around Kagami’s throat. He didn’t want to watch them force a sick red up into his cheeks –didn’t want to see the desperate way that Kagami’s fingers strained with all their might to pry away the gauntleted fist curling around his windpipe; didn’t want to see the wild panic dangerously crawling up behind his eyes as he realised that the hand that held him was gloved and firm, and no amount of nail gouging or clawing was making any kind of difference, because that was the kind of thing that led even the best men to helplessness.

Because what else are you supposed to do, when you can’t breathe, and your own strength isn’t enough to break you free?

Kagami scrabbled away nonetheless; his chest heaving as he strained to take in what little air he still could with a choking windpipe. And maybe Wakamatsu stared with the crowd, a chill settling in his blood as Kagami’s body shook; as his head began to loll, because despite the air being crushed from his chest, he still clutched at his attacker’s wrist with all the frenzy of a man clinging to life, and his red eyes still bored deep with all of his usual fire –even now, asking for a fight.

But even fires can’t burn when they’re smothered.

It’s not as if he meant to, but in that moment, all anger about his broken face fled Wakamatsu's mind. Instead, he was struck by the memory of the sternness in the redhead’s face whenever they fought; whenever he ran –the look in his eyes even as he dangled in mid-air with death waiting below; and the soft, almost childish wistfulness that had touched his voice when he spoke of a home he barely even knew anymore.

Fury rose up in Wakamatsu’s throat like bile; so bitter it made him grimace. Because Kagami didn’t deserve this. Gods knew the kid was a mouthy, violent brat, and reckless to the point of idiocy, and certainly he was making a right mess of the evening, but he did not deserve _this_. So, before he knew what he was doing; before he could even register that the soldier with his hand so firmly squeezed around Kagami’s windpipe was dressed not in the black of a guard, but in vibrant blue, his legs were carrying him forwards with the winds of a storm.

“Oi!” he snarled, the words clawing their way up his throat before he could stop himself and his voice coming out hoarse with anger and laced with pain, “Ease up, you bastard!”

Chilly eyes turned to appraise him; full of contempt and the kind of disdain that grows from privilege, and it was only then that Wakamatsu noted the man’s garb; deep blue, with a doublet embroidered in gold –the colours all-too familiar, and the haughty arrogance of the soldier that wore them as iconic and telling as the black and maroon of the soldiers of Touou.

The man stared at him coolly –with a sharpness that made Wakamatsu want to bite his tongue, but he stood his ground and refused to take back his words nor his insult. And maybe it was complacency, or contempt, or irritation at being questioned –and maybe Wakamatsu was imagining it –but he was fairly certain that the soldier’s grip eased its pressure infinitesimally.

“ –What?” the soldier in blue sneered mockingly, turning his nose up at Wakamatsu, “And let him escape again, like you did?” A few of the nobles standing in the crowd had the gall to snicker at such a jibe, and Wakamatsu _bristled_ , but softened almost imperceptibly as Kagami’s eyes rolled to meet his and widened in recognition. Glaring at him a little, Wakamatsu set his jaw with all the irritation of a teacher with a particularly troublesome student.

“Well just bloody _tie him up, then!!_ ” he snapped irritably, and _gods_ his instinct for self-preservation must have withered and died when Kagami had whacked him, because he was a Good Soldier, and Good Soldiers did not so boldly order around the kinds of men who served powerful men. Susa being the exception. “There’s no need to fu –” He was lucky enough to remember himself in time – “…There’s no need to _kill him_!”

The soldier seemed to consider this for a moment, flinging a stale glance at Kagami through cold, stony eyes –as if the life he held in his hands was inconsequential. And his voice was equally haughty and tainted with disgust, when he reasoned;

“…Roaches don’t die that easily.”

The words fell from the man's lips too easily, making disgust coil up in Wakamatsu's throat --and even Kasuga, still silent but at least still at his side, tensed angrily at his words. And, in hindsight, they both –they _all_ –should have known that if such blatant revulsion had made anger boil up inside them…

…What kind of wrath it might incur from _Kagami._

And this soldier –he’d never chased him before; never fought him –had _no idea_ what kind of chaos the redhead was capable of. Well, considering the circumstances it was safe to say he might have an inkling, but that didn’t mean that he was in the least bit prepared for the vicious, gut-busting kick to the sternum that came out of nowhere with the flashing of blazing eyes.

Kagami’s foot connected square centre of the man’s chest and knocked the air clean out of his lungs. Horror flashed across the man’s face as he lurched; losing his grip on Kagami’s throat as his eyes almost escaped from his face from the force of the blow. He could do little more than croak as Kagami slipped his grasp and, with a sharp and none-too-kind twist on the soldier’s arm, sent him tumbling into a winded, ungainly mess on the ground.

Feet unsteady, Kagami backpedalled away from the stuttering man on the ground; rubbing at his freed throat as he gulped in deep, welcome lungfuls of air. He staggered; flinching with every step, and every breath coming out laboured, but as usual, he showed no sign that his most recent brushes with death could daunt him.

It almost made Wakamatsu want to laugh helplessly.

But then, in an instant –with an almighty, shrieking crash; the kind of earth-shattering peal that might sound when lightning cracks upon stone, the very air of the night changed, and suddenly, laughing was the last thing on earth that Wakamatsu felt like doing.

Silence had never descended so fast, and never been quite so deafening. Up until that moment the courtyard had been filled with all the commotion expected of a party turned sour, but when that horrific sound broke the night, all there was, was silence. A horrifying one –one that dragged on, and on, with hundreds and hundreds of eyes drawn to its source; drawn almost magnetically to the shattered remains of a marble statue –a particular marble statue that the Lord Kise had been overtly proud of; a bust of the handsome son he was also so overtly proud of.

“A true work of art,” the Lord had been heard proclaiming earlier in the night. A pricey little piece, to be sure –he doubted (often, and loudly) that there were many families in the kingdom who could afford such a masterpiece –but of course it was worth every ounce of gold. His family was so very old and important, so it only stood to reason that only the finest of craftsmen be employed to immortalise the heir to such a noble dynasty. The sculptor had been of a fine mould himself –commissioning a commoner would have been a disgrace; art required a refined touch –a _clean_ touch –and had managed to capture his son’s features –proof of the finery in his genes –spectacularly. Could they see the nobility in his face? The strength in his gaze? His natural charm and poise practically oozing from the marble?

Wakamatsu had been able to see no such things, and had been comforted when he had seen a sceptical eye roll or two from some of his fellow guards. Unfortunately, Lord Kise never tired of speaking of the perfect son he’d sired. 

Also unfortunately, for all the masterpiece Lord Kise had claimed that marble bust was; it was now nothing finer than a shattered plate; little more than scattered shards lying where it had fallen when Kagami had staggered into it –a broken in the mess of blood, food and wine that pooled about his dirty bare feet.

 _Ah fuck_ , Wakamatsu cursed inwardly, closing his eyes in a kind of dry resignation, _now you’ve done it._

The silence wore on; cold and shocked, and the animosity growing like a disease with every second. And Kagami seemed to sense it; his body tensing and his brow dipping into a frown as his eyes danced wildly across the crowd, like he was searching for something –or waiting.

And that was when Wakamatsu looked at him –really looked at him while the crowd lingered on the marble fragments that littered the ground. He immediately tensed on reflex, and felt Kasuga do the same beside him, because to any one –soldiers or not –the redhead looked to be gearing up for a fight.

The spell broke with a shrill shriek and the ring of blades being unsheathed, as something in Kagami’s hand caught some glancing candlelight.

“ _He’s got a knife_!”

Some soldiers they all were –too distracted by a broken piece of pricey stone to notice the pretty little blade –no doubt a prize stolen from the man who would squeeze the life from him –that Kagami had clutched in his right hand. The commotion started up again; rising in the clanging of swords being drawn as the nobles shrunk back well and good this time –the ladies fleeing to the edges of the courtyard and their husbands bustling after them as quickly as they could without appearing cowardly.

And as expected of a flighty king, Imayoshi, still loitering in his seat above the debacle as though it were nothing out of the ordinary –did nothing but watch; neither ordering them to attack nor stand down.

But of course they couldn’t stand down –guest or not –prince or not –they couldn’t just let an armed man run rampant in the castle. And as expected, Kagami was showing no signs of throwing down his weapon any time soon. Instead, he was fidgeting with the blade; almost daring the soldiers to break rank from the phalanx that had formed against him. It was with a grimace that Wakamatsu suddenly realised how many of those soldiers –too many for his liking –were dressed in blue, and looking not to King Imayoshi for orders –

–But to another, overseeing the proceedings with ill-concealed hostility; a man dressed in the same blue and gold finery, with golden hair fanned back off his stern face and russet eyes that held both displeasure, and a hint of red. And in his hesitation, Wakamatsu watched him; watched his lip curl into a grimace that marred what many considered a handsome face –watched him give his waiting men a curt nod that one didn’t have to be a soldier to understand.

“Oh _fuuuck_ ,” Wakamatsu gritted out through clenched teeth. He and the rest of his comrades had never taken Kagami on blade on blade –not really –and their captain, (and by association, them), saw fit to humour their king’s claims that he was a _guest_ to some extent, and therefore treated him with as much civility as could be afforded considering the circumstances. But these men in blue, and the Lord they served, were under no such illusions –so who knew what they might do? Kagami was gonna get his idiot self _killed_ if he wasn’t careful. Which, he generally wasn’t.

But, because he had no choice –he was a guard and it was technically his duty to guard the people of Touou (even the insufferable ones) –he curled his hand around the hilt of the short sword hanging at his hip, and dragged it free from its sheath.

 

* * *

 

 

It was difficult to describe exactly what happened next.

Embarrassing, was the first descriptor to come to mind.

Really, to look at the scuffle going on down on the courtyard, it was rather difficult to believe that Touou had come to be considered such a military powerhouse of a kingdom. Granted, soldiers tended not to be _drunk_ when waging wars, but that was hardly an excuse for the highly trained, highly skilled men –those who were entrusted with the safety of the kingdom and it's people –to look like a bunch of ragtag children chasing after a mouse in the schoolyard.

 _Gods_ , what an affair.

Nothing was sacred, and nothing was spared. Not the plant features, or the décor, or the dignity of the guards fervently pursuing the young prince. Especially not that last one. They were barking orders over one another; fighting not to slip in spilled food and impale themselves or their peers as they staggered across the courtyard after Kagami. They were shouting at the crowd and shoving nobles clear of their path –a clear breach of decorum that Imayoshi was no doubt going to have to deal with in the morning –and doing their utmost to engage Kagami for long enough to keep his hellfire from spreading to anymore of the castle.

If only the prince himself were a little more obliging.

The knife in his hand might never have went for a throat –never buried itself deep enough for a mortal wound –he knew as well as they all did that to do so would spell his own demise. (As much as Imayoshi might like his games, the death of one of his own at the hand of a stranger would be something he could not let slide) –but nonetheless, he fought with the savagery of a man who’d faced terrible odds before –a man who knew how dangerous it was to let himself be surrounded or pinned in a corner. The guards tried; bless them, they did –but their quarry turned aside their strikes with his stolen blade, and danced away from their blows with the kind of hard won litheness that could only be earned over a thousand fights.

Amused, and more curious than he cared to admit –because who could help but wonder at the outcome if the young prince were better armed, or more inclined towards lethal force –Imayoshi’s lips quirked into a small smile as he raised his glass to the wild young man as if in mocking toast.

 _Fascinating_.

The guards did not seem to share the sentiment –not enjoying the chase nearly as much as their king. And all around them, tables overturned, statues toppled, and anything that chanced upon Kagami’s warpath went crashing to the ground in pieces.

Imayoshi amended his previous observation with a wince as another priceless statue –sandstone, this time –shattered on the courtyard and sent nobles and soldiers alike scattering. He had likened him to a mouse, and his guards to the children who so futilely chased after him, but where mice ran scared, Kagami certainly did not, and his wilful destruction was far more feline in nature –so the scene before him was more like someone had unleashed a wild cat of unfortunate size and ferocity upon the castle.

Ah well; wouldn’t be the first time.

Parties just weren’t parties unless something went wrong, after all.

And if Imayoshi had thought that there was nothing that could make this evening any more of a perfect disaster, then he was sorely mistaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, YOU'RE GETTING THE SECOND HALF OF THIS CHAPTER SAME DAY COZ I FEEL BAD ABOUT HOW LONG I MADE YOU ALL WAIT. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE. 
> 
> My apologies for the passionate capslock. Do feel free to leave a comment on both this chapter and the next, if you're so inclined; every comment means a lot!  
> Also, I think I've said this a lot in my notes, but I love Wakamatsu a little.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: go!~   
> (I am so happy to be posting this chapter, you have no idea).

It wasn’t as if he’d planned for things to end up like this.

Not that any of them out there would know, or care, but plans had never been Kagami’s strong point. And even if they had been, they certainly would have never culminated in him standing for all intents and purposes, alone, and trapped amidst a cold silence; battered and bleeding, and drenched in sticky wine like some kind of wretched castle fool.

But he wasn’t quite alone, and maybe that was what made it worse. Mobs were made for jeering and scorn –they were loud, obnoxious things that lived and breathed and grew on anger and hatred. But now they sat in an icy silence that hung heavy and sharp in the air, with a seething kind of tension that Kagami could feel on every breath.

He was shaking –his shoulders heaving and his dry lips trembling with every shuddered breath. His legs too, had long since passed burning and were nearly numb with pain, and his dirty, bare feet were oozing from new wounds. But no matter what ice they had in their eyes to mask their fear and their repulsion, his eyes remained steady, and so did his right hand –the hand that gripped his stolen blade and held it pressed tightly against the pale throat of a nobleman.

And for a moment there, he remembered the Pit. How many times had he stood in its cold depths like this; black, rocky walls stretching up above him like a cage --a man's life in his hands. And above him, a faceless crowd would leer down; shouting and throwing stones and betting like they were animals in a ring --because to them, that's all he was. And they always brayed for blood.

And he had to give it to them, one way or another. Whether he wanted to, or not. 

(He never did.)

This wasn't the Trash Pit; this was a different world entirely, and this mob was silent but it felt the same. The rim of the Pit had always been high above, but he'd always been able to feel their jeers. And now he felt just as watched; alone and caged; surrounded by strangers all waiting with bated breath for when he'd finally fall. 

“Back off!” he spat into the silence, his gaze meaningfully sweeping the ranks of the guards in warning. “Let me leave,” he demanded, yanking his hostage none too kindly to set him firmly between him and the soldiers, “…And no one else needs to get hurt. You hear me?”

When he received no answer, he gritted his teeth and pressed his knife a little firmer against his captive’s throat. The man flinched with a light hiss, and the crowd recoiled with him. Kagami wrinkled his nose in distaste, grimacing at his own actions. It hadn’t been his proudest moment –hiding behind a human shield like a coward wasn’t his style, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Beating those soldiers off for good would involve racking up a body count –and that was the surest way for him to wind up flogged and executed; something he’d rather like to avoid. So he needed them to back off.

And he knew from bitter experience that nothing makes a man throw down his weapons quite like one of his own being threatened.

It wasn’t as if he’d targeted this man specifically –he’d simply been there in his haphazard path; stooping to help a young woman bowled off her feet by the swirling of the crowd. He was there, caught unawares, and looked every bit the little lordling Kagami needed to keep the soldiers at bay. And as soon as he’d caged him against his chest; knife set neatly at his throat, they’d hurriedly obliged; faltering in their stride as that shocked, unsettled silence had descended upon the courtyard like winter come early.

“Kagami,” a firm voice called out sternly into the chilly night air, and when Kagami chanced a quick scan of the crowd he caught sight of Susa standing in the foremost ranks of the guards; weapon put up warily. “Let him go,” he said; voice even until, with a light shake of his head, he added thickly, “…You do _not_ want to do this.”

In all their chases, Kagami hadn’t seen Susa’s eyes grow as sharp as they did in that moment. But it didn’t feel like a threat so much as it felt like a warning. 

_Be that as it may…_

“I’ll do what I have to do,” he gritted back as though it were just that simple. And it was; just like it always had been.

At his words, the expressions of the soldiers around him began to darken, and Kagami’s hackles began to rise on the back of his neck as he sensed the atmosphere grow ever more hostile. The soldiers were on edge –even more so than they’d been when he’d first drawn a blade against them –but it seemed that they weren’t about to risk striking.

 _Good_.

Finally, something was going just a little bit right.

Swallowing thickly around his premature celebrations, he wrenched his captive back a few paces; keeping him as a human barrier between himself and the soldiers in case any of them tried something stupid. The tension in the air was palpable; heightening with every step Kagami took backwards; his bare feet slapping on the ground and leaving fresh footprints –in blood, or in wine, he didn’t quite know. Didn’t quite care. Whatever it was though, was staining his hostage’s fine boots a dirty red and making him slip. Once or twice his feet nearly skidded out from under him and Kagami had to roughly manhandle him back into place to keep him standing. And each time the knife pressed intimately to his neck nicked dangerously against his pale skin –and maybe Kagami didn’t even feel all that bad. It would probably do the guy some good to be on the edge of a blade, anyhow –for all their vanity and bluster, most nobles were weak.

On that note, he was actually a little surprised the guy hadn’t tried to run yet; or pleaded for his life –or something like that that captured men tended to do. He was probably thinking about it. Either that or he was a little too busy crapping himself.

But when Kagami chanced a look at him; pale, fair, and dripping in gold from the very locks of his hair to the trimmings of his clothes, there was no panic –no trace of fear –in the man’s face. Molten amber eyes met his red gaze unflinchingly; lidded and far too unaffected by the situation for Kagami’s liking. And it struck him that not once had he called out for help.

He didn’t look afraid. A little caught off guard, maybe, but not afraid.

In fact; there was a flicker of irritation dancing behind those golden irises and a light pout gracing his lips –as though more indignant about his rough treatment than anything. And Kagami didn’t know what the fuck to make of it.

And, so caught up was he in the strange expression this pretty-boy nobleman was wearing –that Kagami didn’t even see the knife.

To his credit, no one did. But those who were closest to the situation at hand bore witness to the way his eyes widened in shock, and saw a thin line rise up red against his cheek –the kind of mark left by the barely-there kiss of a blade. And, with what might have been confusion, the redheaded young prince raised a hand to his cheek and was struck dumb when his dirty fingers came away smeared with blood. 

A dangerous sharpness lit up in his eyes and the soldiers ringing him tensed automatically. But they needn’t have worried; his wariness wasn’t for them but for the second blade that came hurtling out of nowhere after the first. Even as Kagami froze around a choked breath, it carved through the night on glints of torchlight and perfectly –impossibly –halved the air between him and the man shielding him.

Kagami felt this knife in a way he hadn’t felt the first. The first had smarted; broken his skin and left it stinging. But not this one –no –this one he felt as nothing more than a soft caress on the wind –the weapon singing effortlessly through the night and ghosting with horrifying, terrifying accuracy past him. Even once it had passed, the breath of air it had left upon his skin lingered, settling a coldness into his bones in its wake.

And as his heart thrummed just a beat faster, a foreboding voice broke the thick silence that had made the courtyard its home; stony, humourless and offering no room for argument.

“Release him, Prince Kagami.”

Defiantly, Kagami’s grip on his hostage tightened as his irises danced wildly across the crowd to set a face to the man who had not only been fucking stupid enough to try a stunt like that, but dared to just order him around. He found him with no trouble –the man was arrogantly making no attempt to conceal himself; slowly striding through the parting crowd with a bared knife in hand, leaving appalled stares in his wake. He paid them no mind; narrowed green eyes beating imposingly upon the scene.

Kagami resisted the urge to scoff, but was less successful at holding back a grimace as he recognised the haughty, ever-frosty form of Midorima Shintarou.

Some of the soldiers in the crowd seemed to share the sentiment.

“Are you insane??” one of them shouted out aggressively, as Midorima stalked on through; his very presence –accompanied by the knife he was clearly wielding –enough to force the crowd to peel back for him. “What if you’d hit one of them!”

The man’s accusation made Midorima draw to a standstill; green eyes snapping sharply towards the speaker with icy disdain.

“That was not my intention,” he declared flatly, as though insinuating such a reasonable thing was bordering on insult. His tone was stony, and advised against further outbursts, but the man seemed to find such a response laughable –or absurd enough to pay no heed, adding hotly, “Not your intention? Well, what if you’d missed??”

Midorima’s lip curled as he regarded the man with a practiced coolness; seemingly oblivious to the hushed whisper that rippled across the courtyard at the accusation.

“Impossible,” he dismissed, setting his gaze back upon the situation at hand, as though this mere soldier’s concerns were inconsequential. And Kagami would have been lying if he said a little shiver of some kind of anticipation didn’t spark in his blood when those green eyes turned back to him with a steely, unshakeable confidence gleaming in their depths.

“I never miss.”

That was probably meant to make him feel afraid; it was definitely a threat, after all --poorly concealed, but a threat nonetheless –and at the same time spoken so simply and without hesitation that it could only be the truth. So maybe Kagami believed him.

There was no lie to the confidence with which he strode through the crowd --a beacon of order amidst a scene rife with chaos, with head held high and deep green robes unsullied by the filth caking upon the courtyard's stone. He made for quite the striking figure –tall and pale, and a splash of colour against a backdrop of dirty soldiers in black; eyes glinting with a steel not unlike that of the knife delicately grasped in long, deft fingers. And not once did that piercing gaze stray from Kagami.

There was a fight brewing in the air; Kagami could feel it –instincts whispering heavy warnings into his skin and setting the thick thrum of adrenaline alight in his blood. And maybe the crowd felt it too, because they shrank back from him and let him pass unhindered. In his wake, an unsettled, heavy tension fell over the courtyard, as if the night were waiting with bated breath to see what the final act might hold.

“This has gone _quite_ far enough,” Midorima stonily declared into the evening’s silence, adjusting his glasses upon the bridge of his nose as he drew a halt at the foremost ranks of soldiers circling Kagami. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene with distaste; taking in the ruined state of his surroundings and the shabby, dirty urchin of a prince at its heart. "Your foolish endeavour ends now.”

Kagami gritted his teeth around the insult but his expression darkened at the other man’s tone.

“Yeah,” he bit back vehemently, obligingly pressing his knife a little tighter against the throat of his captive, “It does.” The threat went unsaid this time, but his warning glare and the thin line of his lips served as reminder enough.

_No one needs to get hurt._

It hung heavy in the air and seemed to make the soldiers uneasy, but Midorima didn’t seem at all ruffled by the scene –as if it were one he had endured countless times already.

“You seem to misunderstand your situation,” he scoffed, with all the airs of a man rolling his eyes, only for his expression to harden abruptly. “This is not a negotiation.”

His tone was so serious that Kagami actually laughed aloud –a harsh bark of disbelief; roughly jostling the nobleman securely restrained against his chest and currently breathing against the edge of a blade.

“ _Really_?” he snorted dryly, glancing pointedly from the blonde man currently serving as his prisoner and then back into Midorima’s deadpan stare, “Coz it sure seems like it. You _let me go_ ; and you can have the pretty-boy back in one piece.” The grim alternative went without saying, and he was certain that everyone present caught it loud and clear. It was plastered all over their faces –concern for their nobleman dancing in their expressions, and heads were craning in Midorima’s direction to see just how he intended to handle such a delicate situation. Kagami’s lips were well on their way to a triumphant smirk when a simple scoff from Midorima chased it clean off his face.

“Do what you will,” he huffed indifferently, adjusting his glasses to a horrified intake of breath from the crowd, and paying them little mind. “It will not change the outcome.”

Kagami’s eyes narrowed as he met Midorima’s even gaze –completely unaffected by the ultimatum he’d presented him with. Did he just not understand what Kagami was threatening to do? Did he not care? Did he really intend to let this man be tortured before his very eyes?

_Seriously?_

For what it was worth, although the soldiers closest to Midorima appeared incredulous –obviously as blindsided by his words as Kagami was –they were undeniably, genuinely alarmed. It was chilling.

“My Lord…” a soldier dared to query; voice and eyes sharp with concern and laced with wariness. To his credit, he didn’t flinch when steely green eyes set upon him, but there was a strange hush to his words that had his gaze darting around as though searching the crowd for something. Or nervous that someone was watching. “…Are you certain? I mean…If any harm comes to him…his father…”

“ –That is of no concern of mine,” Midorima interrupted coldly, turning aside his gaze and directing it instead towards Susa, who had been watching the scene unfold with trepidation. “Captain, order your men to stand down,” he ordered coolly, and the soldiers present bristled at the condescending tone he maintained while addressing their Captain. “I will handle this.”

“My Lord…” Susa cautioned, voice low and hesitant and his brow dipping into a frown that betrayed his reluctance, “I –”

“ –You have your King’s orders, Captain.”  

The firmness of his tone –expecting to be obeyed –had Susa swallowing down whatever concerns he had been about to voice aloud. He knew the young man wouldn’t say such a thing unless it was true, and he knew how whimsical and petty his king could be –but _surely not_. But when he glanced up at Imayoshi’s table for confirmation, his king merely returned his look with what he probably thought was a pleasant smile. So, it was with a small sigh that he turned back to the scene at hand.

“Understood,” he said flatly, straightening as he projected his voice, “ –You heard him. Stand down, all of you.”

They were good soldiers, all of them –even the ones who weren’t really his –so they obeyed. But dark, angry whispers reached his ears nonetheless, and suddenly the back of his neck was burning with the weight of icy, mistrustful eyes. It was of no consequence though; he served who he served, and if they had a problem with such a thing, then that was a confrontation for another time.

That didn’t mean he didn’t feel the menacing chill all the same when he locked gazes across the ring with a soldier dressed in blue and gold.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he snorted to Midorima, sheathing his sword in one, deliberate motion as he spared first a glance towards Kagami –standing with desperation in his eyes and a resolute grimace plastered across his face, and then one towards the golden-haired man pinned against him like a lifeline. Interestingly enough, he didn’t seem incredibly bothered by the knife at his throat –he’d taken being taken captive admirably well, in fact. The most ruffled he’d looked was when Midorima had practically declared that Kagami could go right on ahead and do his worst –and even then it’d been out of indignation more than anything. Gods knew that a flair for the dramatic ran in the kid’s family.

 _Nobles_ , Susa despaired, and as if to prove his point, Midorima scoffed as if he’d just insulted him.

“Rest assured,” he snorted, and Susa was sure that the leer he turned on Kagami in that moment, though testimony to his own strength and the faith he held in it, could be read as nothing but a taunt.

“ _This is nothing I cannot deal to alone_.”

Kagami flinched; the cold words stinging like an open palm to the face. And when his hand curled tighter around the hilt of his knife, Midorima’s eyes narrowed in a kind of smug smirk; knowing that his slight had met its mark. And right on cue; hammering home the humiliation of being belittled, the soldiers who had been hunting him sheathed their swords, one-by-one, until there was only a single armed man left opposing him.

The one man who had all but declared that he was all that stood between Kagami and freedom. And the face he wore made Kagami’s pride came boiling to the surface; coiling and hissing as it reared.

Because in Midorima’s face he could see his surety that there was no possible ending in which he would be anything other than the victor.

Heat flared up behind red eyes and washed away the budding fatigue as the heavy thrum of his pulse struck up a beat in his blood unbidden.

Pity. Kagami felt the same way.

Maybe he should have backed away. Maybe –if nothing but for good measure –he should have just made good on his threat and taken a chunk of flesh out of his noble hostage; his face was pretty enough that a scar wouldn’t dampen his looks, and men didn’t need all of their fingers anyways. But Kagami had never wanted to play a coward, and as Midorima strode across the courtyard towards him with an imposing aura that he’d only ever known dangerous men to wear, he remembered steely eyes glinting in moonlight, and the icy shock that had churned through him when he had been brought so easily to his knees. 

 _He seems strong_ , was what he’d once said to Takao.

 _He is_ , the servant had replied, and there had been awe in his voice. And maybe something like pride, too, when he added, _seriously_.

Back then, somewhere deep down he had believed it, without question.

And now, facing off against the man himself in the torchlight, he understood, because when one lived a life around dangerous men, it was impossible to not acquire a certain sense for them. Whether or not he'd listened to them remained to be seen --but his instincts had never been wrong, and right in that moment they were lighting fires of warning in his blood that burned white hot.

Now, Kagami knew the dangers of underestimating an opponent, but to look at him --even if he knew otherwise; even if his eyes betrayed his strength and his presence demanded respect; he didn't look much like a fighter. Glasses were for bookish scholars, not soldiers, and were so easily broken; rich robes were bulky and cumbersome, and his were too clean, and his skin far too unmarred to belong to the kind of man who was accustomed to a fight.

\--But there was no denying; he sure moved like one.

The precarious balance of the night broke in the blink of an eye. Green swam before Kagami's vision; little more than a blur, but with the whirlwind intensity of a gale. The air shifted around him, and ice prickled across his skin as an incredible kind of pressure seeped upon him from all around.

Time slowed, and suddenly there was nothing in the world but Kagami and the man before him. He could see the knife; glinting in the torchlight and aching for blood. He thought maybe he recognised it, but then again, knives were knives, and in reality it was coming at him too fast for him to be sure. And he caught a glimpse of the thunder that lay in his eyes --a steel that gave away deadly intent and the resolve to strike with all his strength.

It was both terrifying and invigorating.

A new kind of anticipation crawled its way across Kagami's skin and coursed down his spine, because sure, he'd fought off all kinds of dangerous men before --Hanamiya only threw the most wretched kinds of men into the Trash Pit to butcher each other, after all --but the strength rippling off Midorima in waves was in an entirely new league. It was perhaps the kind of power he'd witnessed in the days when he was young and watched with childish awe the way the grandest of swordsmen had sparred together for sport like warring gods.

It held promise of the kind of fight he'd always wanted --one that was more than just bloodshed and cruelty and death; the chance to prove himself, and the strength he had always desired and knew he possessed. He'd show them what he could do.

But even as he tensed; waiting for Midorima to come within arms reach, he became dimly aware of a dead weight he was lugging about on his left side.

Ah. The nobleman. His painstakingly acquired bargaining chip --the one that Midorima cared nothing for; surging forwards with such intent that he might as well have not been there.

He had an instant to decide his next course of action --a decision that would in a sense determine what kind of man he was. He could hide behind a wall of flesh; fling him into the path of the knife and strike while an innocent man died on the blade of his peer.  Because what use was he to him otherwise? Midorima was fast, and deceptively strong, and keeping his prisoner restrained would drag slow him down and make his movements clumsy and slow.

 _Or_.

Or, he could cast him aside and meet Midorima head on like a true soldier. Because that was what he'd secretly wanted, wasn't it?

No tricks. No surprises. Just them and their blades. 

In the end, the choice was easy.

Heat singing through his veins, Kagami bodily flung his captive aside; sending him careening backwards into the nearby fountain as he stepped up to take his place at the forefront of the fight. Almost a breath too late, he flung his knife up to catch on Midorima's blade and halt it in its tracks; metal grating sickeningly upon itself to a chorus of stunned gasps and a horrific, untimely splash. Shock waves rippled up his arm from the force of the blow, and his entire limb trembled as he fought to keep his opponent's knife from burying itself in his throat.

"Not this time, you bastard!" Kagami snarled with a kick at the other man's knees. With a cold elegance, Midorima avoided the blow; his knife skittering down the length of Kagami's and catching on his forearm; splitting it open in an angry welt. Kagami was quick to retaliate, heedless of the blood dripping down his arm; lunging forwards as water rose up over the sides of the fountain and spilled out over the courtyard; in an attempt to catch the other man off balance. 

With the water came a man; gasping in outrage and drenched from head to toe; elaborately embroidered clothes clinging to his lithe frame, and his golden hair darkened and hanging in dregs about his face. And from the way he clambered up out of the fountain, it seemed like he intended to join them in the ring. And Kagami would have kicked him back into the fountain for his idiocy if he hadn't seen in a fleeting moment, how all earlier signs of indifference had been washed away by the water; if he hadn't caught sight of amber eyes glinting out from under his dripping hair with cold vengeance; fury touching the very air around him in a way that made his hackles rear into life.

There was a tension to his form in the way he flung out a hand to the nearest soldier --not seeking a shoulder to lean on, but rather, something else. The soldier grimaced but made no move to offer what the man was demanding, and suddenly those sharp golden eyes were boring daggers right through his armour.

It must've caught Midorima's eye too --an instant enough for Kagami to lunge for his throat. The man was fast enough to escape with his life, but the edge of Kagami's knife split the skin on his cheek and made it weep red. Grimacing with distaste, he shot a stern, commanding look at the pissed off nobleman and flung out an arm to ward him off. The blond's jaw clenched crossly and defiance flared behind his eyes as he made to reach for the soldier's sword.

"Back, Kise!" he barked; sharp and unquestionable, green eyes flashing thick with warning before they snapped back to face the wreck of a man facing off against him. And maybe Kagami smirked when the blond nobleman grudgingly drew back into the crowd; dripping and fuming --because perhaps it turned out he wasn't the only one who had his pride.

 _Do not interfere_.

He wouldn't have it any other way. This was between them now, and Kagami intended to pay him back for his humiliating loss in the throne room that night. The soldiers that ringed them and the nobles that looked on with contempt ceased to exist –because he had heard enough crowds jeering and wishing defeat on him to last a lifetime.

(He knew that one day –someday –he’d heard them cheering his name.)

But all that mattered right then, was the rush of exhilaration in his ears when he lurched forwards to meet Midorima. The knife wasn’t his favoured weapon by any means, but it was a blade and it warmed him to have one back in his hand. And with the chilly air that Midorima brought with him, he was going to need all the warmth he could get.

And so he struck again, and their knives sung an awful duet as they clashed and scraped and caught against each other.

But Midorima was strong and deft, and moved with an uncanny grace; like these were steps he’d been dancing his whole life. And yet his attention never wavered –he never let Kagami duck into the hazy corners of his vision; and not a single of his strokes fell with even the slightest hesitation. Each time their knives clashed, tremors ran up Kagami’s arms and juddered his bones in their sockets, and each time he would fling Midorima back with the full weight of his body and send him reeling.

That took its toll. There might be heat in his veins and fire burning red and white behind his eyes, but even the fiercest flames need feeding.

And there was simply no denying that after all that he’d endured that night, Kagami was finally running on fumes.

Sweat, in rivers, rolled down off his brow, smearing blood and wine and dirt in its wake and leaving his eyes salty and stinging. He wasn't wearing armour, but for how heavy his limbs felt, he might as well have been wearing lead. As a fight wore on, usually things grew sharper --but he was long past that now. Weariness was beginning to trap his bones; binding him and dulling his reflexes. A cut opened up on his shoulder as he rolled aside too late, and then another on his ribs when he tried to pull back to regroup. Pain and anger flashed across his features as his right leg gave way and he staggered with a curse; blade coming up just in time to deflect Midorima’s attack.

Imayoshi watched as all the crowd watched –watched the pair of them move time and time again; dancing to and fro like sparks chasing each other on the wind. It was mesmerising, in a way, and he wondered with burning curiosity just how long Kagami might last. It was obvious that his strength was failing him –too many of Midorima’s attacks were landing, and he’d seen enough of his fleetness this evening to know that he was moving too heavy on his feet. The tenacity in his face though, despite the steady breaking of his body; that was truly marvellous –something that must have irked Hanamiya to no end, no doubt.

He was the only one who didn’t seem to realise that the end was coming. Or maybe he just refused to admit it. It was obvious even from where Imayoshi was sitting that his body could no longer keep up with his spirit. He was limping something terrible; his right leg threatening to give way at any moment, and whenever they broke apart his right hand –the one gripping his stolen blade, was wracked with shakes. No wonder, really. The entire courtyard was an exhibit of his obstinacy, with his body as proof of it all. There were bruises rising up on his skin and darkening the patches still caked with wine, and wherever he stepped he left a print in blood –it seemed like he was still standing on will alone.

But when Midorima caught a clumsy blow on his blade and landed a swift, decisive kick to the backs of his knees, that was when Kagami’s body finally gave out on him. Unable to hold him any longer, his stiff, aching legs folded out from beneath him and he crumpled to the ground, landing hard upon the stone.

His knife clattered uselessly beyond reach.

Exhausted beyond reckoning, he didn’t get up.

He couldn’t. He wanted to; gods he wanted to –coz there was still a wealth of fight in him, but his body; his stupid fucking body just wouldn’t co-operate. The pain was coming; his torn muscles seizing and all his broken flesh screaming out as it stung. And all around him he could feel eyes watching him; mean, cruel eyes watching him just writhe upon the filthy ground as his limbs spasmed and twitched no matter how much he willed them not to. It was all he could do to just lie there; staring blankly up at the stars with his body turning cold despite the heat in his heart. A strangled gasp rose up from his exhaused lungs and his chest shuddered pathetically; abdomen clenching taut.

Cursing, and gritting back a cry of pain –because what good did that do –he forced himself to stir with what little strength he could work into his limbs, and managed to roll onto his belly. The cold stone felt icy against his throbbing ribs as his nails feebly scrabbled away at it for purchase. 

This was probably what a worm felt like.

A low, dry sob broke through his lips as he squirmed; bracing himself against the ground as best he could –desperate to make it to his knees at least; to look his opponent and all the crowd that backed him, in the eye and tell them to look until their heart’s content, because it would be the last time that they saw this.

He didn’t even make it that far; his own body betraying him and refusing to hold steady. His arm caved and he slumped into the floor all over again; for a moment prostrate and unmoving but for the unbidden shaking of his form. He tried again; commanding his legs to move, and then begging, only to clench his trembling hands into weak fists when nothing would sway them. 

_I'm not weak. I'm not._

So immersed was he in his mission, that he didn’t hear the thud of heavy boots until they were right upon him; a gloved hand coming down to rest against his shoulder. Flinching away from the touch with a low hiss of pain, he struck out at whoever dared to touch him.

The swat was embarrassingly weak, and the soldier caught it easily in one hand.

“Oi, oi,” he soothed; voice familiar and low and lacking bite, even when Kagami struggled against his grip as best he could. When it held firm, almost reproachfully, he glared up from under all the dirt and sweat and whatever else coated his face until Wakamatsu –ugly purple still blossoming across his cheeks –let him wrench his hand away with a sigh.

“That’s enough of that, kid,” he chided, kneeling down slowly, “It’s over.”

This time, Kagami didn't shrug off his touch --which was as close to a concession as Wakamatsu was ever going to get -- and allowed him and Susa to haul him to his feet. The jostling made him groan in pain and huff out a laboured breath, and his legs shook something terrible; threatening to skitter out from under him –but the pair of them held him firm and didn’t let him fall again. After a moment of unsteadiness he managed to hobble a step, and then another, dragging one of his feet a little and his head lolling like it was too heavy for his neck to hold. His tanned skin was littered with bruises and cuts; some crusted over and some still oozing, and not all the purple staining peeking out from under his tattered clothes was from wine. 

Wakamatsu grimaced, watching the whispers strike up around the room; telling of how he was a menace; how this was another royal embarrassment for the kingdom; how he deserved what he got. He adjusted Kagami's large frame over his shoulder as best he could and couldn't help the way his hand curled into the back of his shirt. Susa seemed to share his distaste, because a curt nod and a moment later his soldiers were pressing the crowd back to let them pass without incident.

“To his room?” Wakamatsu inquired of his captain, before glancing down at the young prince’s sorry state and reconsidering, “…Or the infirmary?”

“Neither,” Susa replied sternly, flinging a glance up to the table where their King and their princess sat –the former looking ever-so-pleased with himself, and the latter wearing a quite unreadable expression. “The Princess has special orders for us. Lord Midorima is making the necessary arrangements.”

At the mention of the king’s attendant, Kagami tensed, and would have stumbled in his stride if Susa hadn’t tightened his grip on him; wincing apologetically when the action seemed to cause him pain. Wakamatsu couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy –their fight had been an entrancing one to watch, sure, but by no real means fair. And even after he’d exploited that, Midorima had just disappeared off like it was no big deal??

Gods, the strong ones were always the worst.

“You know, you sure are something,” Wakamatsu muttered, with something like awe, and when he realised how unguarded he'd accidentally sounded, he added, more upbeat and even slightly jovial, “Maybe next time?”

His tone was a little long-suffering, because there always seemed to be a next time, but he let it stay light because it definitely didn't feel as good as he thought it would to see their young guest hanging his head and dragging his feet and so utterly, completely defeated. So maybe, so sue him, maybe Wakamatsu figured that it couldn’t hurt to try cheering him up. Losing was something that was hard to stomach. Losing so wholly, to someone like that, after struggling so hard, was worse. And from what he’d seen, Kagami didn’t take defeat all that well.

Tears wouldn’t have been out of place. He’d seen better men weep over less.

Despair wouldn’t have surprised him. Realising one’s own weakness and inability to alter fate was never a kind experience.

But when Wakamatsu looked at Kagami’s face, his eyes were dry, and there were still flames smouldering in his eyes; storming with the intensity of a wild tiger.

He could safely say that he had never seen him look more furious.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you think we should just invite him to the next one?”

Imayoshi was well aware of the absolutely scandalised look his daughter was giving him. It was one of his favourite expressions on her.

“What?” he sniffed, shrugging lightly as though she was making a big deal out of nothing, “He keeps things interesting.” He raised his glass towards his slightly ruffled attendant, flitting off through the dispersing crowd and dabbing at the thin red marks in his skin with the edge of his sleeve as he went. “And if he ever causes problems then I’m sure Midorima would be delighted to step in.”

Were Midorima standing with them, he would undoubtedly look less than delighted by such a suggestion. As it were, Satsuki looked thrilled enough for the both of them in his absence, and Imayoshi snickered playfully.

“Kidding, sweet daughter.”

“No you weren’t.”

So maybe he wasn’t. Was it really so wrong to occasionally want to spice up a stuffy formal gathering? But he didn’t bring that up with his daughter because she’d inevitably have something to say about it, and he was not about to waste his last few minutes of peace, seeing as there was undoubtedly a someone or two out there who had some things to say about how he’d handled the night’s proceedings.

He was sure it was going to be quite the charming encounter.

Even if he said nothing, she seemed to have an inkling of his train of thought because she rolled her eyes away like she were the parent dealing with a particularly petulant child. A moment later she rose to her feet and brushed off some imaginary titbits of food from the lap of her dress as if to signal that the fun was over; shooting him a reproachful look.

“Well, if you’re quite finished,” she sniffed primly, a condescending lilt to her head that he was certain she’d learned from him, “…I’ll be taking my leave.”

“Who said I was finished?” he shot back, glancing down into his…well, he couldn’t quite recall what glass it was but what mattered was that it was nearly empty. She tutted with disapproval so inappropriate for her young years and gathered up her skirts as a signal for her handmaidens or servants –anyone left in the vicinity after enduring the madness –to accompany her, well, anywhere that wasn’t there.

“I’m still leaving.” 

He let her leave without protest, soldiers keeping watch over her as she went and servants laying down mats as best they could so as not to soil her clothing. But he did venture to call out to her as he lazily swirled his wine around the sides of his glass, “Sweet daughter, pout all you like, but don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the show even a little. You stayed, after all.”

He didn’t expect a response and didn’t get one. But her silence, and the tensing of her delicate shoulders as she paused in her stride said enough –said that her expression had wilted into one of quiet nostalgia; the one where her eyes held a soft, faraway sadness and that she seemed to think he never saw. But as always, he let her think that he didn't notice, and shrugged dismissively, though the corner of his lip quirked up knowingly as she straightened abruptly and swept off without another word, leaving Imayoshi with his wine in blissful silence for approximately an instant.

“ _What is the meaning of this?”_

Ah, Imayoshi would know that voice anywhere; loud, demanding enough to be rude but not excessively so, and dripping in ice. And so it begins, he mused to himself with a grimace, knocking back what remained in his glass and turning to face the newcomer with a strained smile.

“Lord Kise, always a pleasure.” 

The Lord Kise; extravagantly dressed as ever, seemed to neither buy nor share the sentiment; his mouth pressed into an unpleasant, thin line and a fury in his eyes that made them seem to glint with red. Imayoshi’s feigned cordiality faded from his lips and his eyes narrowed to match the nobleman’s stormy, borderline hostile gaze.

“May I be of assistance, my good lord?” he inquired slowly, tone deliberately flat.

“I think you so, Your Majesty,” Lord Kise replied, the customary title holding some bite to it. When he smiled, it was dry and sour, saying that there were a very many things he wished to draw attention to. Imayoshi couldn't _wait_ to hear every one, in excruciating detail. “I was hoping you could explain to me why your man was so willing to let my son die.”

“Willing to let your son die?” Imayoshi parroted back innocently, scoffing as though the notion were absurd. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. It was difficult to tell with Midorima sometimes. 

“Some might say _eager_ ,” he added, his accusation far too thinly veiled for Imayoshi’s liking.

“Would they now?” he said, eyes narrowing and his voice taking on a light, dangerous tone that the lord standing before him either didn’t fear or didn’t quite catch. Both possibilities were equally foolish, “They would lack faith in their king's decisions, then."

See, two could play at dangerous accusations. 

"Believe me when I say that Lord Midorima is rather adept at handling these...extraneous situations,” he remarked dismissively. “I assure you, your son was in no real danger.”

“In no real danger?” The man bristled, eyes flashing as he drew up indignantly, “Tell that to all the good men he's injured tonight. Look at this place! Look what's he's done! He’s _dangerous!”_ He gestured in disgust at the scene before them, “You’ve seen what he’s capable of!”

“…Have we, though?” the king considered, humming to himself.

 “ –That _barbarian_ held a knife to my son’s throat; drew on your own men –”

“That _barbarian_ is of a royal bloodline, Lord Kise –a prince," Imayoshi corrected condescendingly for what felt like the umpteenth time, enjoying the way that the man’s expression soured at the reminder and made his handsome face pinch most unfortunately. Squaring his shoulders, he gritted his teeth around his next words, as though they pained him to utter.

“…Meaning no disrespect, Your Majesty –”

Funny how men always seemed to say that when what they meant was inevitably disrespectful.

“ –But there is nothing royal about him. That is not a prince,” the man spat with disdain; his tone clearly hinting at what exactly he considered Prince Kagami to be. “He’s wild.”

That was clearly meant to be the last straw of his argument, but Imayoshi almost snorted at the irony. Impressively, he managed to maintain his composure, dramatically rolling his eyes skyward as he rested his chin lightly in his palm.

“…Oh? And we’ve never dealt with wild royals before?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, no Aomine as of yet (my bad), but look who's finally made his first appearance!  
> And, I think I might cry with joy. I wrestled with this chapter for SO LONG. And now it is done and we can advance!   
> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed~ Don't feel too shy to drop me a comment!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol this chapter was meant to be fun. Enjoy.

The staircase was long, and dark, but even without a torch, Takao knew the way. It had been a long time since he’d walked these halls, but he remembered them the way a soldier might recall the way home after years at war –no matter how much had since changed.

Not much had changed here, though.

There were still guards stationed at the foot of the stairwell, but no less easy to sneak past –more so, if anything. Even if Takao hadn’t been older now, and countless times sneakier, the straight-backed, stern guards that had once stood vigil over the doorway –(and had been none too reluctant about handing out a (deserved) hiding to misbehaving youths) had been replaced by weary, bored-looking men betting on dice. Their king might be concerned to know how easy it was to slip by their watch undetected.

But Takao’s lips were sealed tight enough. It was a servant’s place to never be seen, and never be heard, after all.

Slinking past the torchlight and into the inkiness that lay beyond that doorway felt kind of like stepping into an old, dim memory. The shadows hung heavy upon the walls, leaving Takao little more than blind, and when he looked up he saw nothing but darkness.

But he didn’t need to see, because it was all there in his mind’s eye. It was bigger, back then, because he had been smaller, but it was there –the looming, seemingly endless staircase that rose up from the castle into a magnificent tower. Some of the castle children had been terrified of it, but to others it was an adventure –just another part of one of their games. For a time, at least. And in his youth Takao had climbed these stairs by day and by night enough times to know this stairwell as well as any other in the castle; even after all these years. 

He’d been sure that he’d almost forgotten, but really, as he walked –silently following in the steps of his younger self –he found it was impossible not to remember. He knew how many stairs there were; how long it would take him to walk up, and how quickly he could run down. He knew where to duck where the torches hung low, and the exact step with a chunk of stone missing that would trip you if you were careless. It was colder and _mustier_ than he remembered, but he remembered all the same.

So, even with his sharp grey eyes rendered blind by the pitch blackness, he climbed –climbed past the step he’d once fallen and lost a tooth; past the spot he’d been bundled up by a guard like a sack of grain and hauled off to his mother; past the torch one of his companions had once burned his hand on and cried. Cried like a baby, another had said, but helped sneak him to the infirmary nonetheless.

Takao gently laid a hand against the wall as he walked, dust coming off against his fingertips as he pressed them against the cool stone. The other servants who had come this way had obviously made an effort to seem it more travelled, but sometimes it was hard to polish away the dust that settled over years of emptiness.

It just made it all the more obvious that he was not the only one who hadn’t walked this path in a long time.

The door at the top felt a lot smaller. He could finally reach the top bolts without climbing, and they weren’t nearly as heavy when he slid them almost soundlessly from their shackles. Once upon a time they’d been so loud that they’d only manage to get one unlocked before the clanking would have the guards up on him, but he’d had time, and too much practice to forget, so even now the bolts slid back with little more than a soft click.

The door swung open soundlessly, and Takao slipped inside to find the room painted with moonlight. The other servants had obviously made a better effort with the room than the stairwell, but to someone who’d known this place when it was cared for, the neglect showed through in the fraying ends of the wall hangings, and the way the blue rug on the floor was growing a little threadbare and was bleached pale after years of sitting alone in the sun.

But even so, _he_ was there, just like he always was, and for a fleeting moment Takao was young again; flung back through his memories to a time when he wasn’t sneaking up here as a servant, but as a friend. He thought, briefly, as his heart lurched in his chest, that he must be dreaming, because it made no sense for him to be here after all this time.

And yet, all the same, there was a figure in the window, perched upon the ledge and silhouetted against the bright midnight sky –wistfully gazing out into the night as though hungry for what lay beyond. He’d always be waiting there –waiting for the door to freedom to creak open and for silver, or gold, or green eyes to creep out from the darkness; wanting to play. And he would turn to them, and he would grin, and there would be a kind of bright wildness in his eyes that had burned fiercer than all of theirs combined.

 _‘Let’s go, already_!’ Was what he’d say, eyes dancing with starlight. And Takao could almost hear those words echo off the walls; found himself waiting with bated breath to see if he would hear it again. But of course he didn’t, because when the shadow set against the moon turned to face him, the eyes that landed on him were red, not blue.

In an instant, the scene cracked, and Kagami Taiga’s strong features hurtled back into focus, chasing the ghosts of his memories back into the past where they belonged.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Takao couldn’t help but mumble, rubbing his eyes a little as the door closed behind him.

“Who else were you expecting?” Kagami snorted flatly, sounding disgruntled, and so he should. His new lodgings were a tower, and no less of a prison than his previous. 

“No one.” It wasn’t one of Takao’s more convincing lies, but Kagami was either easier to deceive than he thought, or he didn’t care to call him out for it. Either way, he was glad he didn’t have to elaborate, and toed across the room to lay out new clothes on the bed. He hadn't needed to, but servants needed reasons to be skulking about at night. As he did so, he caught sight of small prints in blood dotting to the stone floor between the bed and the windowsill.

“You should be resting,” he sighed reproachfully, despite knowing that his advice would probably go unheeded. “…Not much else you can do up here,” he added, and shrugged when the air tensed, “Just stating a fact.”

“…You don’t think I know that?” Kagami growled; exasperated, and Takao glanced over at him to find his hands clenched into fists against the stone window ledge, and his strong profile set into a grimace as he gazed out into the distance. It wasn’t a particularly warm evening, but he didn’t seem to feel chilled, even shirtless as he was, and sitting in the night air. He was wearing more bruises than he had been the last time Takao had seen him –believe it or not there had been one hell of a mess to clean up after the events of Lord Kise’s disaster of a party, and he and the other servants had been scrubbing until their hands blistered and their knees bled –so he’d been a little occupied since Kagami had been shifted to his new accommodation. It turned out that Kagami's messes were a whole lot less funny when one had to help clean them up. 

But despite the bruises, and the bandages wound tight around his abdomen, arms, feet…he looked no less impressive. He didn’t look broken, or disheartened, or any closer to resigning himself to his fate. It was a little annoying, even, that he could still be so thick-headed despite everything that had happened to him.

That didn’t mean Takao didn’t respect him for it, though.

… _But_ , he mused to himself as his eyes caught sight of the torn bandages wrapped loosely around the redhead’s feet; stained with blood, _it also doesn’t mean he’s not a stubborn idiot._

“Come on,” Takao huffed on impulse, heading over to the window and holding out an arm for Kagami to take, “How about I change your bandages and you actually get in bed and let yourself heal? For a change.” It was more an order than a request, and they both knew it, but surprisingly, Kagami obeyed without too much of a fight. Maybe he was tired, finally. Unsurprisingly, though, he refused to take Takao’s arm, batting away the proffered help in favour of limping across the stone on feet that must have been causing him some pain.

How on earth he’d managed to outrun the castle guards on injuries like that, Takao couldn’t fathom.

That was when he saw them, and it made him stop. And maybe it made him understand, just a little.

Gods above, how had he never seen them before? He’d seen him bathe; seen him change –seen the bruises and the scars that riddled his chest and arms and thighs –so how had he missed these ones; so beautiful and terrible –the kind of tearing that floggings left behind.

Terrible, mostly, and they made something thicken in the back of Takao’s throat as he stared. Like rich tendrils of lightning they fanned out across his back and spread in layers across his shoulders –carved into him by a cruel sculptor with a heavy whip. Takao didn't want to count them. But as his eyes danced over them, tracing where one would end and the next would begin, he could hear that sharp, wicked crack that would herald the lick of a whip breaking skin. He flinched, despite himself, but couldn't look away. Some of the scars --thin and silver --looked almost delicate, whereas others lingered as angry, knotted welts rising up from his tanned skin. They moved as he moved; rippling with each shift of his muscles.

In the moonlight, they looked like wings.

“No wonder you want to go home,” Takao found himself murmuring, softer and sadder than he’d intended. Because he'd seen floggings, and seen how they could break a man, and tear not only his skin, but his heart. And now his mind had conjured up an image of Kagami, unbidden --one where he was strapped for a lashing; alone before the eyes of a crowd, but for the man behind him to deal out his sentence. Had he cried out for anyone? Had anyone cried out for him? Had anyone been there to stitch up the lashes that gaped, and made sure he would heal? 

From the looks of some of the scars; jagged and thick, not likely. 

At his voice, Kagami stiffened, face in shadow as though he could feel Takao’s grey eyes raking over his back and clinging to the criss-crossing lines that marred his skin. But then his shoulders straightened and he glanced back over at Takao with his expression stormy.

“I don’t want your pity,” he declared with heat, and Takao’s expression softened infinitesimally at how deep his pride ran. “Maybe I deserved some of them,” he added, a touch of defiance leaking into his tone, “And maybe I didn’t. Either way, they don’t matter anymore.”

That sounded like his last words on the matter, and to his credit, it truly sounded like he believed it. And from what he’d seen, Takao was inclined to believe that Kagami Taiga was the kind of man who was more than his scars –the kind that rose above them.  There was no denying that he was a different breed of man –the same kind his uncle had been, at least in a sense. From what he knew of the Ironheart, Kiyoshi was a tree with thick roots and wide eaves –unbowed and unshaken by even the wildest of storms, and shelter for any who sought it. Kagami was just as unbowed –with that same iron will that remained unbroken even when his body might shatter.

But Takao knew that much already. He’d seen Kagami’s latest fight, after all.

“Understood,” was all he replied, though, and Kagami seemed satisfied enough with that, that he turned away and let the room’s darkness swallow up the scars on his back once more –leaving Takao more than a little curious but concerned for his physical safety if he tried to pry too far yet.

No wonder the guy had trust issues. No wonder the guy had _issues_ , period.

Plonking himself back down on his bed, Kagami bent to peel the bandages from his feet and yelped a little when the movement seemed to pain him. With a light huff, and shaking his head, Takao automatically slunk forward and knelt to do it for him. He’d barely managed to lay a finger on the dirty bandages when the foot was yanked from his grasp and would have laid _waste_ to his face if he hadn’t ducked aside in time.

Irritated, he glared up at the redhead from the floor as if to say ‘ _what’s the big idea?’_

“ –Didn’t you hear me? I said I didn’t want your pity,” Kagami growled flatly, cringing as he jarred an aching calf and scowling down at him like a petulant _child_. Annoyance flared up behind Takao’s eyes as he swatted Kagami’s hand away since apparently he was dealing with a bratty kid, and tugged his foot back down so he could deal with the mess of bandages the idiot had obviously produced trying to hobble over to the window.

“And this isn’t me _pitying_ you, Kagami; this is me _helping_ you,” he sniffed back, glancing up into the redhead’s face meaningfully and tightening his grip on his foot. Unsure what to make of the expression that crossed Kagami’s features at that, he lowered his gaze again, clucking his tongue. The bandages were ugly and crusty from reopened wounds, but nonetheless he began painstakingly peeling them back to inspect what the hell he’d done to himself this time. Typically, he’d ripped open whatever scabs had been healing reasonably smartly, and irritated the ones that were getting there. But, and Takao felt an odd sense of relief at the observation, the mess of dried blood caked to his heels made his feet look worse than they actually were. They could probably just use a good wash and some new bandages –two things that all of Kagami could stand to benefit from, by the looks of things. The other servants obviously weren’t taking appropriate care of his wounds.

That wouldn’t do, he mused to himself. Next time he came up here he’d have to give him a thorough bath, and make sure his bandages were dry and changed, and ensure he was resting, because how was he going to escape again if he couldn’t even –

Takao’s hands stilled at the same time as his thoughts, and he wondered with a start just when he had started pressing ointment into the cuts on Kagami’s feet to make sure they wouldn’t fester.

 _I’m not his servant_ , he scolded himself, _why should I go out of my way to make sure he’s all right?_ He glared down at the wounded foot he was holding, as though it might offer some kind of answer –and in a sense, it did. The rest of it, Takao found on Kagami’s face, when he peered at him out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t looking at him –making a point not to, it seemed –uncomfortable and confounded, as though he didn’t know quite what to make of Takao’s actions. And maybe that tugged on his heartstrings a little –a tune he remembered from years gone by, when cruel children who wrinkled their noses at the lonely boy in the corner who was weird and rude and scolded them for being too loud, had asked him, “ _why do you even hang out with him? It’s not like you’re even friends_.” 

Takao, small and wild-eyed, and blunt, like children are prone to be, had just grinned at them, and shrugged, because it seemed so simple.

_“If I don’t, who will?”_

In the darkness, head bowed, Takao’s expression softened, and a chuckle bubbled up from his throat as he mindlessly pressed ointment into the wounds that carved up Kagami’s feet.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded hotly, jerking on his foot again and sounding wounded, like he thought Takao was making fun of him (again). But Takao automatically caught his foot again and kept up his ministrations without pause.

“Nothing, nothing,” he assured him distantly, “I just remembered something, that’s all.” Kagami huffed at that, apparently not entirely sure that he was telling the truth, but not making to pull his foot away again. He sat there without further protest until there were new, clean bandages tied neatly in place over the wounds of both of his feet, which was when Takao decided to get chatty again.

“I saw your fight, by the way,” he remarked, inspecting his handiwork and absentmindedly tightening a knot. Kagami tensed rather sourly, sensing a jibe, but that wasn’t his intention in the slightest. In fact, his voice softened rather mistily –fondly even, “…I haven’t seen a fight like that in a long time.”

_I haven’t seen him fight like that in a long time._

Ah, maybe he’d sounded too wistful, just then.

It was lucky that Kagami was too busy sulking to notice.

“Cheer up,” Takao snickered, slapping the side of Kagami’s calf as he stood, and making him flinch. He pretended not to notice; moving to turn down the bed like he normally would for any other lord, “You put up quite the fight, you know?” Kagami didn’t seem reassured; staring out the window with a storm simmering in his eyes.

“I still lost.”

Takao paused a moment, glancing across at the dim silver outlines that marred Kagami’s back. Disregarding how frequently his escapes tended to be thwarted, and despite his story –the demise of Seirin, the scattering of his family, and his fate to be a ward of Kirisaki Daiichi –Kagami had never seemed the type to _lose_.

Sounded like someone he once knew.

“And you’ll keeping losing,” he shrugged nonchalantly, scoffing when Kagami turned his glare on him, and waving away the look as if it didn’t bother him. “What?” he sniffed, patting the pillow to remind the man that it was well into night and long past his bedtime. “You’ll never beat him fighting like that.” He didn’t mean it as an insult –merely an observation, but Kagami clearly took it as the former, and would’ve undoubtedly exploded into some kind of outburst if Takao hadn’t given him a decent prod in the ribs –right where it was definitely going to hurt.

“…Or with this how it is…” he pointed out, as Kagami yelped and clamped a hand protectively over his aching abdomen; red eyes flaring up. Takao raised an eyebrow reproachfully, point proven, and took a step back (in case Kagami decided to retaliate). But Kagami just watched him as he shrugged, seemed to see the truth in his face that said _you wouldn’t stand a chance right now_. And he didn’t seem happy about it.

“I’m not just gonna sit here –”  he began heatedly, but Takao shushed him with a dismissive hand.

“Don’t I know it?” he chuckled wearily; wondering when was the last time this room had heard those words.

And then memories of green flashed behind his grey eyes –strong and vibrant and with its own kind of warmth.

_I’m counting on it._

“I don’t need you to lecture me…” Kagami snorted flatly, (and Takao would beg to differ), but at the very least he was obliging enough to shuffle himself up onto the bed and under the covers. Takao contemplated offering to tuck him in, but figured that that would probably not be well received. Instead, he wordlessly began heading for the door again, stopping beside one of the windows for a long moment to peer off into the world.

It was quite the breath-taking view, he had to admit. High up as they were, it felt almost possible to see beyond the borders of the kingdom and to the corners of the night sky. The castle stretched out below them, and the city beyond even that; torches and lanterns and candles lighting up the distance as little pinpricks of light. A stone path ran along past the foot of the tower, storeys below –and he remembered looking up to the tower when the days of playing were long passed, and wondering at how far away these very windowsills seemed.

Now that he took the time to look down, the ground seemed just as distant.

When he turned back, Kagami was (thankfully) in bed, but facing away from him; little more than a dark lump in the corner of his bed. The corners of Takao's eyes creased slightly as he moved towards the door, but he didn't dare call it a smile. But instead of slinking right out through the door without another word, he stopped. 

“Hey, Kagami?” he queried quietly into the darkness, his voice low and a little hesitant. In the long pause that followed, he traced the wood on the inside of the door with a finger. It was ridged with old, worn dents, like once upon a time someone had beat at it, to no avail. 

“…Yeah?”

“…Mind not telling the guards I was up here tonight?”

“What?” Kagami snorted, blankets rustling as he shuffled to gaze across the room at him through the darkness, “…They didn’t let you up?”

“They didn’t have to.”

“…You _snuck_ up here?”

“That’s a harsh way of putting it,” Takao chuckled lightly at the disbelief in his tone, locking grey eyes against red with a dry smile, “…But yeah, maybe I did. So…maybe don’t mention it to them?” Kagami stared at him incredulously for a long moment, seeming to be trying to weigh up the truth of his words and not coming to any sort of conclusion.

“…What do I get out of it?” he inquired flatly, and Takao snickered, because he should’ve been expecting that.

 _I don’t serve him,_ part of him reminded himself.

 _One day you will_ , another argued back.

But strangely enough, neither part was what urged him to spread his arms rather theatrically; to proclaim graciously, as if it were all he had to give, “I’ll come when you ask.” And then he shrugged simply, grinning slyly as though it were all a game, “…And sometimes when you don’t.”

Kagami didn’t know what to make of that, and clearly didn’t take him any sort of seriously, because he slumped back down into his mattress with a harrumph and a flat snort of, “Whatever, Takao.”

“Sweet dreams,” he replied lightly, hand leaving the indents on the wood and reaching for the door handle, when Kagami spoke once more.

“….Why’d you come up here, then?”

The door swung open just a crack, and Takao allowed himself to listen to his memories for just a moment, as the shadows of youths flitted down the stairs ahead of him, snickering and shushing each other in turn.

 _You coming, or what_??

“…Let’s just say…for old times’ sake,” he answered mistily into the darkness of the stairwell. What had gone and come over him recently? He knew his place now, or so he told himself and anyone who might claim otherwise. He’d made his peace with it, he thought; had successfully staved off nostalgia for years now.

Maybe not as successfully as he’d thought, because he was here, and lingering on old memories, so it seemed it was rising with a vengeance that made his grey eyes turn a bitter, sad kind of smoky; the kind that has seen better days, and watched them fade.

“You have your past, Kagami, and I have mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'd also like it to be known that I affectionately called this chapter "Angel of Fire", and almost thought about changing the title to that.  
> And it might be hard to believe, but I want them to be happy too. And I couldn't resist a bit of Takao.  
> Let's hope the next chapter sets them on that path, shall we??  
> Thanks for reading! What do you think? How do you think this story is going to pan out? 
> 
> Hope you liked, hope you leave a comment, hope to see you next chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, once again. Thanks always, for your patience~ Here's a new chapter for your reading pleasure; enjoy!

It wasn’t that Iwamura didn’t appreciate a change of pace as much as any man –especially considering the chaos that seemed to be plaguing the castle in times of late –but this was certainly bordering on ridiculous. Where half the soldiers in the city seemed stricken with an almost _feverish_ work ethic –funny what kind of madness little whispers could incite –the two men lounging at their post before him seemed thoroughly unconcerned.

He would have admired their level-headedness in the face of bedlam had they been anyone but who they were. And, seeing as they were who they were, he wondered if he should be concerned. Wakamatsu was, after all, sitting barefoot at the base of the Sky Tower stairwell with a whetstone and his blade –boots lying haphazardly some feet away, and Tsugawa appeared to be trying to catch peanuts in his mouth.

 _“Ahem_.” 

There was a blessed twenty seconds where the pair of guards at least had the decency to look like children caught out of bed after lights out. But that was all he got before the sheepishness fell away and they were back to…whatever it was they were doing.

Anything seemed to pass as ‘guard duty’ these days.

“Good to see that you two are taking your job seriously,” he remarked flatly, when it grew apparent that neither of them seemed to think there was anything wrong with the present scene. They looked up at being addressed and seemed to quickly understand that he meant quite the opposite.

“He started it,” Tsugawa shrugged, mouth full of peanuts and his feet up on the table that Iwamura could not deny having played a few games of card at to waste away the hours.

“Oi, real mature, Tsugawa,” Wakamatsu shot back from the floor. Tsugawa threw a peanut at him.

“Oh good; you’re being adults, too,” he wondered dryly, folding his arms and glaring at Tsugawa until he at least took his damn boots off the table. With weary eyes he glanced over at Wakamatsu’s discarded boots and shook his head as though he was beyond saving, “The Second Captain’s gonna kill you.”

“ –Second Captain’s not here,” Tsugawa pointed out, spitting enough peanut crumbs everywhere to earn himself a dead look.

“Yet,” Iwamura reminded him sternly, “But I assume you’ve heard the whispers?”

“Yeah, yeah; relax, Iwamura,” Wakamatsu placated, sheathing his sword in a swift movement and rising to his feet with a wince, “Rumour has it he’s finally coming back from out west, right?”

“That’s what the rumours always say,” Tsugawa snorted dismissively, “And look, what’s it been, a year?”

“Closer to two,” Iwamura corrected flatly, “And it looks like the rumours might actually be true this time.”

“That’d explain why the training grounds have been so fuckin’ busy,” Wakamatsu remarked, stretching out wide and letting his joints crack back into place, “I sure hope those kids can keep it up. He’s gonna _kill_ anyone he thinks has been slacking while he’s been away.”

Iwamura didn’t bother to disguise the pointed look he sent in Wakamatsu’s direction at that.

“Oi, don’t look at me like that,” he snapped back crossly, “I do my time down at the ring just like everyone else.” He jabbed a finger down at his feet to draw attention to the way they were cut and blistering from said penance –probably the reason he wasn’t wearing his boots in the first place. “’Course, it’s not gonna be enough for the Captain,” he added morosely, weakly scrubbing his hand through his hair at the very thought of what the future held, “You _know_ he’s gonna double our drills.”

“If not triple,” Tsugawa piped up, sounding unduly upbeat considering their impending demise. He shoved a handful of peanuts into his mouth and shrugged as though there was no point resisting, “…He reckons Susa’s too soft on us.”

“Hey, hey,” Iwamura frowned warningly, “He knows what he’s doing, and he works himself just as hard.” Neither of his comrades could argue with that, at least, “Harder, even. There’s a reason he made Second Captain, after all. Any other kingdom and he’d be First, and you know it.” And they did know it. They were also right about one thing, so he conceded, “But there _is_ every possibility that he’ll run us into the ground. And it won’t be pretty.”

“People are gonna cry,” Wakamatsu agreed.

“I puked _so_ much last time he came back from the field,” Tsugawa chipped in, and the three of them shared a grim chuckle at the thought of their impending demise. And although they laughed, war flashbacks raged across their irises; too raw, and uncomfortably close to what their futures held. It was hard not to grimace, but Wakamatsu at least made an attempt to bring the life back into his expression when he realised that while they’d been discussing their untimely fates, a servant had snuck into their midst.

“Oh, hey,” Wakamatsu greeted cordially, sinking down into a nearby chair with a grateful groan and directing a lazy wave at the servant; who frankly looked confused at being spoken to directly. He probably would have stretched his feet out on the table if Iwamura hadn’t sent him a glare daring him to do just that, so settled with leaning back in his chair and casually addressing the servant, “Back again?”

“….Lunch time does come around every day,” the servant tittered immediately; the jibe rolling easily off his tongue. But from his own startled expression it seemed like the words weren’t meant to have left his mouth in the first place, and the “…Sir,” he tacked on to save face was just a little too shy of mocking to be respectful.

A peanut fell from between Tsugawa’s teeth, and his brow fell into a low scowl. The servant’s mouth clicked shut and he ducked his head apologetically for running his mouth.

“Oi, who do you think you are, talking to us like that?” Tsugawa remarked, the playful edge his voice often took turning sharp. “Servants shouldn’t be just –”

“My apologies,” the servant muttered hurriedly. And some would have taken his hastiness for fear. To Iwamura though, it just sounded like he just wanted to get the words over with. “I forgot myself.”

“Well, you better _remember_ yourself,” Tsugawa advised haughtily, straightening up, “Or someone might think to _remind you –_ ”

“Tsugawa, that’s enough,” Iwamura scolded, bringing his hand down on the younger man’s head heavily, to remind _him_ to keep himself in check, “Actually, go stand in the hall. You’re getting crumbs everywhere.” He turned his nose up at the mess the soldier was making on the floor, what with his scattered peanut fragments strewn everywhere, and Tsugawa, bless him, saw fit not to argue. At least until he was out of arm’s reach.

“Go on up,” Iwamura advised the servant, waving him on up the stairs, “And pay Tsugawa no mind. He’s harmless.”

“Iwamura, my father –” Tsugawa interrupted from the corridor he’d been banished to.

“Shut your noise hole, Tsugawa, or I’ll shut it for you!” Wakamatsu snarled back irritably, and didn’t intend to take it back, because if he had to hear one more time about Tsugawa’s rich daddy, he would not be held accountable for his actions. And he could’ve sworn on his life that the servant _snickered_ , but when he looked into the man’s face it was as unreadable as that damn attendant of Imayoshi’s.

Unreadable, but oddly familiar –which was strange, because in this castle, servants flitted around like shadows –constantly flickering and changing forms. But there was something about this particular servant’s face that had him feeling like he’d seen an awful lot of him –and not just in days of late.

It was a weird feeling that he’d been sitting on for a while now –unsure of what it meant or how to approach it. He didn’t often cross paths with servants, and despite inhabiting the same castle as a great many of them, he probably only knew a handful by sight, but for some reason he felt like he should be able to place this one.

“Hey,” he called out, frowning slightly. The servant stopped midstride and half-turned to face him; tense and no doubt expecting be scolded. Probably for how flippantly he’d addressed castle guards. But Wakamatsu couldn’t care less about that. It was a little refreshing to see a servant who didn’t bow their heads and scuttle off like a little mouse. If anything, he was curious.

“…You’ve been coming here an awful lot, haven’t you?”

“…Just doing my job….sir,” the young man replied innocently. Wakamatsu’s frown deepened, knowing that the servant had purposely misheard, what with the looseness of his tongue a few moments before. But after a long moment the servant wet his lips and conceded, jerking his head towards the stairs and adding, “…He…Kagami…makes the other servants…” He mulled over the word for a moment before deciding, with a small grin, “Nervous.”

“Nervous?” Wakamatsu snorted, letting out a bark of laughter and leaning back in his chair, because if that wasn’t the understatement of the century, “You mean he scares them?”

“Hmm…You could say that,” the servant hummed back lightly.

“But not you?” he inquired, cocking his head and searching the servant’s face. And as the servant shook his head in response, the strangest thing happened. Grey eyes; brighter than fresh steel –brighter and sharper than any servant’s had any right to be –glinted out at him from under dark bangs, so piercing Wakamatsu felt they could see straight through him.

“Not me,” he parroted back, grey eyes meeting his gaze without fear, and a sly lilt to his voice that was unlike any servant he’d encountered before, “I’ve seen his type before.” And then, as an afterthought, and with a pleasant smile, “…Sir.”

“Have you, now?” Wakamatsu mused, his brow furrowing suspiciously.

“ – _Best_ not to let the nobles catch you calling him a  _type_ ,” Iwamura advised in  flat tone, “They can’t seem to make their minds up on whether or not he’s a Lord.”

“…He doesn’t like being called that,” came the immediate response from not just one voice, but two, and Wakamatsu glanced in surprise over at the servant who it seemed, hadn’t been able to stop himself from speaking, yet again. 

“So you’ve heard, too?” Wakamatsu chuckled casually, and found it a little refreshing to see the servant snicker along with him. “…He talk to you much?”

“Sometimes,” he replied with a small shrug, the movement jostling the bundle he was carrying like his firstborn child and a flash of tell-tale pink dropping into view. “…Usually he just throws things at me.” Now, normally that would have been quite the hilarious mental image, but far more interesting was what was concealed in that little bundle of his. Wakamatsu’s eyebrow gave the faintest twitch and his eyes narrowed as he searched the servant’s face. The man looked the picture of innocence –a picture that he was certain he’d seen before –one he remembered being fooled by more than once when he was nothing but a wannabe soldier stuck babysitting the castle brats.

“I know your face,” he declared with certainty, getting to his feet and wincing as his blisters smarted.

“…Had it my whole life, sir,” the servant replied without missing a beat, taking a step back as Wakamatsu moved forward, and subtly tucking his burden under his arm a little tighter. The guard raised an eyebrow rather sceptically, eyeing it in a way that told the poor servant that he knew _exactly_ what it contained. But the guy didn’t look in the least bit concerned that he’d been caught red-handed; smile still set in place like he hadn’t the foggiest what the soldier was getting at.

“What’s your name?” Wakamatsu inquired gruffly, conscious that Iwamura was glaring a hole in his back to remind him to behave or be sent to stand in the corridor like Tsugawa.

“Takao,” the servant replied, after a moment of hesitation –his name making Wakamatsu’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Takao Kazunari. Sir.”

_Gods above._

For a moment there, it was all Wakamatsu could do to stare at the servant’s face incredulously; the name rattling around the back of his mind like an old itch as the man before him flickered against a dusty memory from what might as well have been a previous life. Past blurred into present, and then he let out a bark of laughter that seemed to startle everyone present.

“Is that right?” he snorted abruptly, slapping a hand to his thigh and then peering into confused grey eyes. And if his own eyes were particularly warm, and creased at the corners, well, he wasn’t to know. “Takao? As in the same little Takao I used to catch stealing cakes from the kitchen when you were just a brat?”

Takao bristled, and in a most un-servantly manner, stuck his nose in the air, something that made Wakamatsu recall his twelve year old self –skinny and croaky-voiced and still growing into his limbs –trying to scold a bright-eyed little imp wearing that same face.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, right,” he snickered theatrically, unable to grin a little, “You never knew anything about those missing cakes, did you?” He had to physically push away the instinct to reach over and give the servant’s cheek a pinch. “Even when I caught you all with jammy hands and sticky faces, am I right?”

“That was a long time ago, sir –”

“Oh, would you quit it with your _sirs_?” Wakamatsu snorted, shaking his head helplessly, because wasn’t this a blast from the past? How long _had_ it been? Years and years, probably. He could barely remember the last time he’d caught those little brats sneaking treats from the kitchen –he himself couldn’t have been much more than a youth; eager to please, old enough to babysit, young enough for the older soldiers to boss around. “So, you’re a servant now?”

“Always been one,” Takao reminded him, though that was rather glaringly obvious, and his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, “ ‘ _Born a servant; always a servant_ ’ …and all that. You wouldn’t have seen me around, much.”

“ _Right_ ,” Wakamatsu muttered flatly, remembering what they said about servants but still feeling a little guilty for not having recognised the guy sooner. Sure, it was a big castle and there were a lot of servants, and he didn’t really cross paths with them often enough to put names to faces or anything, but he thought he would’ve recognised the man that such a sneaky wee tyke had become.

Then again, perhaps not.

But he put that to the back of his mind, because there were more pressing issues at hand.

“Anyway, hand over one of those cakes. I know you’re smuggling them up for Kagami.”

“What cakes?” Oh, how a little Kazunari had gotten that line down to a fine art –the perfect mix of angelic innocence and indignation at being accused.

“Takao,” he snorted flatly, “That shit didn’t fly fifteen years ago, and it damn well isn’t flying now.”

Well, that wasn’t necessarily true, but he was hoping that Takao didn’t remember that.

But, unfortunately for him, there was a wicked little glint in those sharp grey eyes that told him he was flat out of luck. So what if maybe he’d had a bit of a weak spot for a couple of the kids? Was it so bad that he’d felt guilty for making them cry??

“Oh come on, I’m not gonna rat you out,” he promised hurriedly, before the sneaky little rat could dob him in and ruin the tough image he’d been working so hard on maintaining, “I just want one. Or a couple. Kagami doesn’t need them _all_.”

“Wakamatsu, I thought we’d talked this –”

“Hey, I won those cakes fair and fuckin’ square,” Wakamatsu sniffed at Iwamura before jabbing a finger down at the servant looking up at him with visible scepticism. “ –And he’s not gonna even know that there’s one missing!” 

Iwamura liked to think that he was above the melodrama that his fellows seemed unable to resist incorporating into their everyday lives, but even he had to admit that the sigh he heaved in that moment was of a rather… _theatrical_ nature.

“Just give him one,” he advised wearily, palm pressed to his face both to try and keep his sanity intact and so he could deny having ever been witness to the exchange of stolen goods, “We don’t want any trouble, and believe me; it will be so much easier in the long run.”

“Really?” Takao didn’t sound like he believed him in the slightest, but he (albeit reluctantly) pulled a sweet treat out from the confines of his bundle and held it out to Wakamatsu, “…So he’s _not_ gonna make me his personal cake thief?”

“Thought hadn’t even crossed my mind,” Wakamatsu smirked, mouth full of cake almost as soon as it was in his hand. The servant’s shoulders slumped at his words and there came that guilt again, rearing its ugly head. With a roll of his eyes and a playful slap on the back he added, “Oi, oi, don’t make that face; I’m just playing with you. I’m not a monster, jeez.” He jammed the rest of his cake into his mouth and licked the frosting off his fingers with a contented hum. “Don’t worry, you’re not gonna get in trouble or anything, right, Iwamura?”

“I saw nothing.”

“That’s the spirit.”

For a moment there, Takao just lingered in their midst, bundle tucked protectively against his side as though he wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. Wakamatsu, sugar messily dusting the corners of his mouth, gave him a reassuring grin and a conspiratorial wink. By the look on the servant’s face, he hadn’t quite had the desired effect.

“Well,” he remarked, the pleasantness in his expression somewhat forced –nervous, even, like he didn’t believe that the pair of guards weren’t going to tell on him. “I...I shouldn't be talking to you..."

"It's fine, isn't it?" Wakamatsu scoffed, rolling his eyes, "For old times' sake?"

"...I..." Takao seemed like he wanted to say something, but bit his tongue as if to chastise it for running so freely for so long already. "I could get in trouble," he eventually muttered, and the way he dipped his head might have been respectful if his eyes hadn't been glinting bright out from under his bangs, "...So, if you’ll excuse me, sirs…” 

“ _Wakamatsu_ ,” Wakamatsu felt the need to correct, plonking himself back into his seat with a light huff. Both Iwamura and Takao looked at him like he’d sprouted another head. He glared back combatively, like he’d done nothing odd, reasoning, with a wrinkle of his nose, “It’s my name, isn’t it? Feel free to use it. Just...feels weird having a brat I used to babysit calling me _sir_.” He gestured for Takao to venture upstairs at his leisure. “Good to see you, Takao,” he added; equal parts cordial and nostalgic.

And even if their days as children were long over, he couldn't help but raise his voice teasingly as the servant disappeared beyond the doorway and into the stairwell, “Glad to see you’ve grown up to be such a fine pastry thief.”

For a second there, it seemed like he’d gotten the last word in, but a moment later, almost as an afterthought, a dark head appeared at the edge of the doorway once more, a soft smirk gracing the young man's features --like he knew he was overstepping, but just couldn't help himself. 

“What can I say?” he snickered, mimicking the playfulness of Wakamatsu's taunt, “…Old habits die hard, _Kou-niichan_.”

“Okay, what the _fuck_ did you just call me?” Wakamatsu roared, bounding to his feet and hissing as his blisters cried, but the servant had already vanished up into the stairwell like a wisp of smoke. “I told you brats not to… _Ohhhhhh_ , I’m gonna throttle him…” he muttered mutinously as he hobbled over to grab his boots, unaware of the eyes watching him rather incredulously until he turned around and found Iwamura staring at him.

“What?” he huffed crossly.

“ _Kou-niichan_ ,” Iwamura echoed, sounding perhaps more perplexed than Wakamatsu had ever heard him sound before in his life.

“Don’t you start,” Wakamatsu warned flatly, snorting out hot air and glancing away from his friend, “…Some of the…some of the little monsters I babysat had a nick….they liked to call me that, okay?” he explained lamely.

“…You let them escape if they snuck you cakes, didn’t you?” Iwamura accused dryly.

“Oh come on, I was pretty much a kid too!” Wakamatsu defended, folding his arms across his chest, “They were just so good at stealin’ em! And my ma wouldn’t let me have extra after supper, and c’mon Iwamura, have you seen kids when they’re about to cry? Damn near breaks your heart! What was I supposed to do?”

Here came those theatrics again. Iwamura dragged a hand down his face and refused to acknowledge the fact that his friend was _pouting_.

“I have somewhere else to be,” he announced abruptly, because that was quite enough of this sort of nonsense of the meantime –even if the training grounds were bound to be packed to bursting with adolescents with the same tendency for dramatics. “I’m meant to be supervising down at the training grounds, so…I’ll be going. Send Kasuga down too, if you see him. We have some new horses to break in.”

“New horses?” Wakamatsu’s ears pricked up and his expression brightened noticeably, “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I could –”

“ _You_ are on guard duty,” Iwamura reminded him, deadpan. “…Supposedly.”

“Aw, come on Iwamura,” he grumbled, “Guarding _what_?” he gestured towards the stairwell dismissively, “You know this is a waste of time. No one _escapes_ from the tower. And he’s been behaving himself, right, Tsugawa?” he added, hollering out to his fellow guard.

“Not a squeak,” Tsugawa affirmed.

“In _days_ ,” Wakamatsu added, for emphasis, “This is _boring_ , Iwamura. Is this Susa punishing us?”

“Probably.”

“ –Coz it sure feels like…oh. Right.” 

“Hey, maybe we should just let Kagami loose on the training grounds,” Tsugawa piped up, sticking his head around the doorway with a grin and getting two dry glares in return. “What? The newbies are gonna cry anyway, so they might as well get it over with. And the big guy would probably love to beat the crap out of some baby soldiers.”

“…I hate to agree with Tsugawa, but he’s got a point,” Wakamatsu admitted.

“ –And let’s face it, chasing Kagami down has _really_ done wonders for Wakamatsu’s fitness –”

“I’m gonna cram those peanuts of yours down your –”

“ _Wakamatsu,”_ Iwamura sighed, before the insults could get too colourful.

“ –The new kids could really use the cardio –”

“You too, Tsugawa. Enough.”

Gods, where did these two get off on calling the newer recruits _kids_ when they acted like children themselves? The captains had to have _endless_ patience to deal with a whole army of men like this.

Well, patience was Susa’s thing. As for the Second…

Kasamatsu Yukio was a man of many virtues, but endless patience was not one of them.

Iwamura was just about to declare himself done with the situation, when movement in the doorway at the base of the staircase caught his eye.

“Hmm….sorry to interrupt,” the servant – _Takao_ , it seemed –remarked, noticeably more pleasantly than when he’d departed, and not sounding all that sorry at all as he leaned in through the doorway. In fact, if anything, there was a quirk to the edge of his lips, and amusement glittered in his grey eyes.

“You’re not interrupting,” Wakamatsu assured him with a glare over at Tsugawa to keep his trap shut.

“Just thought you might like to know,” he tittered, and the words that had the ability to ruin any guard’s day spilled past his lips.

“Kagami’s not in his room.”

 

* * *

 

“Kagami, go back inside. You’re gonna get stuck.” 

“ _I’m not stuck_.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re gonna be! So get your ass back inside before you fall.”

“ _I won’t fall_!”

“Oh, like you’ve never fallen before?” Wakamatsu snorted, neck craned at an awful angle so he could stare skywards as best he could. “I wouldn’t wanna fall from up there, man. It’s pretty far down.”

“I’m _not_ gonna fall, so shut up.”

“He is _really_ giving that a go, isn’t he?” Kasuga commented with a low whistle, squinting against daylight as he joined in the small party of guards that had gathered at the foot of the tower to see what on _earth_ their guest was up to this time. “No one’s ever climbed all the way down before, right?”

“Never,” Susa replied, shaking his head and squinting to get a better grasp on the situation. From where he was standing, Kagami looked like some kind of ungainly spider, fanned out against the stone and clinging to it with surprising ease.

For now, at least.

“I think this is probably his best attempt yet,” Wakamatsu admitted lightly.

“You’re just saying that coz you haven’t got hurt yet.”

“Oi, can you guys shut up?” Kagami snapped from where he was precariously manoeuvring down the wall; stone by stone. The guards below didn’t miss the filthy look he flung down in their direction. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Well _sorry_ for trying to stop you from escaping,” Wakamatsu nettled back dryly, “No offense, but it’s kinda our job.”

“Well, _no offense,_ but you’ve been pretty _shit_ at it.”

“Ooh, Kagami, I don’t think they liked that,” Takao remarked breezily, glancing down over the window ledge to see the guards all turning to their Captain as if to say _would you look at this fuckin’ kid??_ “And not that I’m disagreeing with you or anything, but believe it or not; they’re actually pretty impressive fighters.”

“Yeah? Well, I _don’t_ believe it,” Kagami snorted hotly, glaring up at him from under his bangs with heat. Takao remained unfazed, leaning heavily on the windowsill and watching over the proceedings like he was more than a little inclined to laugh.

“Now, now,” he tutted playfully, “I know you don’t mean that –move your hand a bit to the right…there you go –now, just come back inside, will you?” If Kagami’s hands hadn’t been occupied, he probably would’ve flipped him off. “I have cakes.”

“I don’t want your cakes.”

“Well, I don’t want you to splatter into a hundred pieces on the ground,” he shot back, chomping down on one of said cakes with a satisfied little hum. Crumbs spilled everywhere; some of them scattering down into Kagami’s hair. “Look, it’s not too late to just give up and come back in,” he added, mouth full. “…Couple more feet and it’s gonna get ugly.”

“You shut up too,” Kagami snapped, pointedly dropping a little lower and catching himself on some jutting stones. “What, you’ve climbed this wall before, or something?”

“Who me?” Takao snorted, “No way. Weren’t you listening? No one’s ever gotten all the way down.” He shrugged, licking his fingers thoughtfully as he sank down onto the windowsill –out of sight of the guards, and his expression invisible to the man clinging to the wall below him. “…I’ve seen someone try though. Couple of times….’Course, he gave up eventually,” he added with a shrug, tone light, but thankfully Kagami was busy looking at the ground, because he didn’t see how forced Takao’s smile seemed in that moment.

“Look, Kagami, not that we don’t love watching you get yourself into a mess,” Susa interrupted from the ground, sounding tired, “But this is getting ridiculous.”

“You tell him, Captain,” Wakamatsu sighed supportively, before yelling, “Kid, never heard of quitting while you’re ahead?”

Briefly, Kagami made the ill-advised decision to remove one of his hands from the wall to flip the guards his middle finger.

“That’s a _no_ , then.”

“Captain, he’s never going to listen,” Kobori muttered, shaking his head in resignation – a sentiment that his fellows seemed to share. “I say we just let him get it out of his system. Maybe he’ll wear himself out.”

“You’re right,” Susa admitted dryly, rubbing his brow in exasperation, “He’ll be up there all day.” 

“All day, you reckon?” Kasuga mused curiously, glancing up the wall as though appraising a particularly perplexing riddle. “I don’t know…” 

“What?” Wakamatsu frowned, raising an eyebrow, “How long do you reckon he’s gonna be up there for?”

The silence was long and uncomfortable, to say the least.

“I give it a couple of hours,” Tsugawa shrugged.

“…Oh, I’ll take that bet.”

“ –Half a day, at best.”

“A day _easily_ –seriously, guys, do you know him _at all_?”

“…I don’t know…no one’s lasted more than a day before.”

“ _I can_ _hear everything you’re saying, and I’m not stuck_!”

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean he’s _stuck_? 

With what could only be called a _scathingly melodramatic_ eye roll, Midorima adjusted his glasses and set his icy gaze upon a particularly resigned-looking Third Captain.

“Exactly that, Your Majesty,” Susa replied, his deadpan more of a grimace that usual. “He has climbed out his window, and is _stuck,_ partway down the wall.”

“Oh. How unfortunate,” Imayoshi mused lightly, taking a sip of his wine and glancing down at the absolutely impossible amount of letters he was going to have to deal with. Bringing an army back to base was really such an immeasurable hassle sometimes. “How far down did he make it?”

“Not particularly far, Your Majesty.”

“Unsurprising,” Midorima remarked flatly, as though this entire meeting were completely unnecessary, “…They never do.”

“Now, now, Midorima, no need to be so prickly,” Imayoshi tutted, like he was speaking to a particularly crotchety child, before addressing his Third Captain again. “…And here I thought he was finally starting to behave himself.”

“We’d hoped as much, too,” Susa admitted, disguising his disappointment as best he could. “Your Majesty...How long is this going to go on for? _All due respect_ , but you can’t expect to keep him locked up forever.” 

“On the contrary,” Imayoshi scoffed dismissively, “Although _locked up_ is really such a harsh way of looking at it.”

“…He’s shut up in a tower and the doors are bolted shut,” Susa reminded his king as firmly and as bluntly as he dared, “…You don’t get more _locked up_ than that. Something he does not enjoy, apparently,” he added with a long-suffering grimace.

“Apparently,” Imayoshi echoed thoughtfully. “In any case, it was never my intention to let him rot away in a tower,” he added, a sly, wily smile spreading across his face, “What use would my dear nephew have for him, then, hmm?”

Was it just Susa’s imagination, or did his king’s attendant look just an increment more pinched than usual at that?

“…Besides,” Imayoshi continued, ignoring or oblivious to his attendant’s tangible disapproval (probably the former), and opting to sift through the letters on his desk with obvious boredom. Finding nothing of interest, he brushed them aside and settled himself deeper into his chair with a most worryingly thoughtful expression imprinted on his face, “…The noble houses have been getting rather smug lately, haven’t they, Midorima?”

“…The…current housing arrangements…do appear to _please_ them, Your Majesty,” Midorima replied dutifully, adjusting his glasses, “Greatly, even.”

“ _Smug_ , Midorima,” Imayoshi corrected with a light wrinkle of his nose, “They’ve been _smug_ , which is almost _worse_ than being pleased –and I really _cannot_ have that now, can I?”

His tone indicated that he intended to change just that, and probably quickly and dramatically, at that. Oh, and there was that malicious little glint in his eye that confirmed to Susa that his king was up to something. Which, inevitably, was nothing good.

“Your Majesty…” he sighed, having to remind himself that pleading never got anyone anywhere when Imayoshi got like this, “…Surely it’s only a good thing that there have been fewer complaints –” For how much Imayoshi seemed to detest dealing with the petty concerns of the noble lords and ladies of the castle, he sure didn’t seem to appreciate the notable decrease in complaints.

“ –Well, yes, Susa, but at what cost?” Imayoshi lamented darkly, “…This really won’t do at all.” He let out a dramatic huff like a man who’s just realised that if he wants a job done right, he’d best do it himself.

Or, at least orchestrate it himself.

“Susa, my good captain, get Wakamatsu to flush out that nephew of mine, would you?” he commanded flippantly, “I’d advise you get him on Aomine’s tail right away. I haven’t seen him skulking about in a while, so I imagine it’ll take some time to find him –and Midorima, if you would be so kind, I would like to – 

“Meaning no disrespect, Your Majesty –”

“ –Oh, I’m sure –”

“…Whatever you’re planning…" Because there was no doubt in his or Susa's mind that their king  _was_ planning something. "...I’m sure your daughter would not approve,” Midorima interrupted, sounding like he already rather disapproved himself, even if Imayoshi hadn’t yet made his intentions know. _Especially_ since Imayoshi hadn’t yet made his intentions know. And Susa was inclined to share the sentiment.

And when Midorima’s reproachful reminder caused their king’s expression to curl into a wily grin –the kind that a scheming man might wear while rubbing his hands together with glee –well, that proved not in the least bit reassuring.  

“On the contrary, Midorima, I think she’ll be quite pleased.” If nothing else, Imayoshi sure sounded (and looked) rather pleased with himself. He licked a droplet of wine from the corner of his lips and turned back to his letters with discomfortingly more fervour than before, though his smirk betrayed where his anticipation truly lay.

“Make the arrangements would you, my good man,” he asked of his attendant rather nonchalantly, the wicked glint in his eyes belying his aloofness.

“I think it’s about time we invited our dear guest to breakfast."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soon, friends, soon. I know what you've been waiting for, and I know it's been slow as all hell, but I'm working to get there how I can so this AoKaga fic gets some AoKaga all up in it~ Promise! 
> 
> (I also really need Kagami to have friends because he deserves them). 
> 
> And now, there's breakfast with the royals to look forward to, so I hope to see you next chapter! Don't be afraid to drop a comment~  
> Much love.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Hi there. Remember me? It's been a while. Too long. 
> 
> So where do I start with explaining myself?? I am so sorry for the wait; this chapter has been just TOO long in coming. For those who want to know; I had writer's block --badly, I gotta say --and then inspiration hit, and I started writing, and writing. . . . And then I broke my laptop and lost all that progress. Because I don't back my work up. 
> 
> (I do now.) 
> 
> But here we are. There's finally something more for you guys to read. I enjoyed getting back into the writing and into the story, so I hope you guys who have been waiting enjoy it too!

Declining an invitation from a king was never a good idea. 

Kagami had learned a long time ago that they were just orders in disguise; daring the foolish to disobey and be punished for it. So when one of the guards –not Wakamatsu or his fellows, but their captain himself –knocked on his door in the early hours of the morning and announced that he’d been extended an invitation to join the king for breakfast, he’d almost laughed at the irony. 

And then he’d refused. 

Which was why Susa was now standing in the doorway.

“…Kagami…” came his weary sigh –an appropriate level of exasperated considering the time of morning and how long he’d already been waiting outside Kagami’s door. Because of course it would be too much to ask for him to just do as he was bid, for a change. 

“What do you want?” Kagami muttered darkly, turning his nose up at the clothes that had been laid out for him at the end of the bed. Takao --he assumed it was Takao; not many servants came up here --must have snuck them in during the night. They were fine things; black, and heavy with silver embroidery, and hadn’t made any sense until Susa had come knocking. 

His open hostility had never really fazed Susa before, and it didn’t seem to bother him now.

“His Majesty is expecting us.” 

“And?” Kagami snorted flatly. Briefly, his gaze darted to the bowl sitting so innocently upon the chest nearby where a servant had laid it while he slept. The water in it was still warm and the razor accompanying it bright and sharp, and glinted in the dim morning light. Unconsciously, he scrubbed the back of his hand across his chin and grimaced as the uneven stubble –the trademark of a caged man –grated across his knuckles.

When was the last time he shaved?

Susa’s voice was more insistent this time. 

“It won’t do to keep him waiting.” 

Kagami acted as if he hadn’t heard. 

His uncle had had clothes like these ones; fine-looking things with intricate silver veins of embroidery that only years of experience could perfect. These were even richer; heavier and thicker, and adorned with gleaming silver buttons and little polished beads woven into the designs. Too impractical and too bright for a man like him, but of course, they weren’t made for a man like him. They were meant to be beautiful; clothes fit for a prince. 

“Kagami,” Susa repeated sternly, this time with the kind of authority that comes from years of keeping belligerent underlings in check. “You will meet with His Majesty and the Princess today, one way or the other. For your sake, I would prefer that it wasn’t in chains.”

Suddenly the fabric looks ugly; clenched in his fist.

The razor looked much better; fit much better. Because that was the kind of man he was –at least now. He hadn’t been a prince for a long time.

It couldn’t have taken more than a moment to snatch up the razor –but it was still enough time for a lesser man to flinch, and a better man to reach for his sword. And although it only took Kagami a few long strides to reach the door from where he stood, it should have been plenty of time for a veteran fighter to prepare himself for an attack. 

But even as the razor blade carved through the air, Susa made no move to retaliate. And even when daylight flashed upon steel and the blade halted in its path no more than a hair’s breadth from the soft skin of his throat, he didn’t even flinch, like he’d known that Kagami would pull his strike before even Kagami did. And his tempered expression didn’t wither in the face of eyes alight with wildfire; even when the edge of the blade nicked against his stubble and a droplet of red beaded on his skin. 

Susa didn’t fear Kagami, in the way that it was misguided to fear a kicked dog, but even he had to admit that when he captured Kagami’s wrist in his hand, it was terrifying and sad how steady his hand was; how rhythmic his pulse beat under his fingers, like this was a scene he’d played out a thousand times over. Like killing him would be only so easy. Effortless.

Unfortunately for him, Susa had seen enough real monsters to know the façade of a man masquerading as one. 

“…Enough, Kagami,” he murmured, testing the sudden silence with soft eyes and the slightest shake of his head. “This is not Kirisaki Daiichi…. You don’t have to be what it made you.”

And maybe Kagami didn’t understand –or maybe he did and didn’t care to hear it, because his hand jerked violently in his grip and Susa’s fingers tightened around his wrist before he could wrench away. 

_ Yes, I do _ , the bitter curl of his lip screamed; jaw set and hand shaking as he strained against Susa’s grip.

_ No _ , the patience in Susa’s face said, ever-unwavering,  _ you don’t _ . 

“…But if you insist,” he offered evenly, glancing pointedly down at the blade between them before returning his gaze to Kagami’s face, “I can call for the Lord Midorima, and we can drag you like the beast the rest of the castle seems to think you are.”

He hoped that it wouldn’t come to that, and it showed on his face. 

Some of the castle’s inhabitants –no doubt a few of his own men, and possibly his king included –might delight in seeing the barbarian prince of Seirin bound and gagged like a common criminal. But that was something that Susa neither understood nor wished to play further part in. He’d never say it, because Kagami seemed like the kind of man who wouldn’t care to hear it, no matter how well it was intended, but he pitied him. No one his age should have suffered; been punished as he had for a crime so small as being loved by his uncle. 

That being said, orders were orders, and his orders were quite clear. And if the way Kagami’s gaze flickered all-too tellingly to the sword strapped to Susa’s waist was anything to go by, he had no intentions of making this easy. 

Susa let out a heavy sigh.

He was not getting paid enough for this. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned wearily, laying his free hand upon the hilt of his sword to dissuade Kagami from reaching for it. “Kagami,” he added, soothingly; the kind of voice one might use to placate a wild beast, “There will be other times for fighting, but for today, just meet with His Majesty. He means you no harm.” 

“ –I don’t believe that,” Kagami gritted out, with such venom that it seemed to leave a sour taste on his lips. And Susa was rendered so speechless by the ferocity of his words that he had to wonder to himself just how many lies Kagami had misguidedly believed; how many times he’d been burned by the hollow promises of kings to mistrust them so wholeheartedly. And suddenly the wild, hunted look in his eyes made sense. 

But Susa was no king, and he meant what he’d said. Touou was not Kirisaki Daiichi.

"Then believe me _._ "

_ If only Kagami would understand that.  _

Fickle his king might be, but somewhere beneath his slippery skin there was a good man pulling the strings, and that was who Susa trusted in. Imayoshi, despite having earned a reputation as a snake of a king, and a fox of a man at best, had never ruled by fear (although it could not be denied that he certainly possessed the capacity for it) and had but a fraction of Hanamiya’s penchant for the suffering of others. And as long as he did not consider Kagami a threat to him or his, the young prince had nothing to fear from him but mischief. 

Susa was not about to let Kagami become a threat. 

And so, breaking the tentative stalemate they had been locked in, he slowly relaxed his grip on Kagami’s wrist, letting the blade of the razor settle snugly against his skin, and offering up his throat. 

“Or kill me,” he offered, solemn and sincere. Understanding. “…And run, if that’s what you want to be.”

More than a dare; more than a challenge, it was a question. 

And Susa waited with bated breath to see how he might answer. 

For in that moment, he was all that stood between Kagami and the rest of the castle, and he was at Kagami’s complete mercy. The human throat was so fragile, and to cut it; to let that razor sink deep would have been only too easy. It would be messy –the slitting of throats always was –but it would be over quickly, and while Susa choked out his last in a pool of his own blood, his sword would be open for the taking. 

These were all things that they both knew, yet Kagami hesitated. And in the moments that ticked by, the fire in Kagami’s eyes turned stormy, and rife with conflict. The blade at Susa’s neck quivered once, twice; pressing in deep enough to draw blood. Then it stilled, and went no further.

“Just…just breakfast?” Kagami’s words were barely more than a whisper; low and hesitant –but words enough for Susa’s expression to soften just so, because he knew that he had made his choice.

“You have my word,” Susa assured him solemnly,and for some reason Kagami seemed to find that laughable.

“…Like your word means anything to me,” he scoffed through gritted teeth, but snatched back his arm nonetheless. The sharp pressure against Susa’s throat abruptly vanished and he let out a breath; a gloved hand rising to his neck to brush off some of the dry blood that had crusted over there. And it was a good thing that Kagami had his back turned, else he might have seen him smile.

 

* * *

 

“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” Kagami declared belligerently, dabbing at the water dripping off his chin –smoother now, or as smooth as he’d been able to get it, if not even –and wincing when a nick on his jaw smarted.

“I know that,” Susa assured him from the doorway, where he’d been silently observing Kagami sloppily shaving away his stubble the way a youth might before his father’s shown him how; hands folded neatly behind his back. “…You missed a spot.” 

The glare Kagami sent him was particularly withering, but since Susa had long since grown immune to such things he just sighed and gestured to a spot underneath his chin. Kagami glowered at him but Susa caught him giving himself a final once over with the razor before casting it aside and skulking over to the clothes laid out for him. 

(The captain personally found it in rather poor taste on Imayoshi’s part, but sometimes it was best to leave His Majesty to his whims.)

Kagami didn’t like them. They were tight and stiff, and suffocating, and when he looked in the mirror he barely recognised himself; like he was wearing skin that wasn’t his.Too bright, and too clean, like someone had painted an old toy like new but hadn’t bothered to mend the cracks. 

_ Do I have to do this _ ? Said the hangdog look he sent to Susa in the mirror. But they both knew the answer to that already.

Susa gestured for the door; standing wide open and unguarded. Inviting him to pass him by.

“Walk with me,” he said –offered, rather, because it wasn’t so much an order as it was a request. All the same, it felt like a trick. 

“What if I run?” Kagami asked flatly as he sidled stiffly towards the door. The boots he was wearing weren’t a perfect fit, and rubbed a little against the bandages Takao still insisted on binding his feet with, but run in them he would, if he had the chance. 

And Susa was presenting him with a chance like no other, holding the door open and expecting him not to run. 

“Then we’ll catch you,” came the simple reply. And there was something about how certain he sounded of that, that a dry huff –the closest he would allow himself to real laughter –passed Kagami’s lips. It felt good; like some of the weight he’d been carrying in his heart for too long had been suddenly lifted from him. 

Who did this soldier think he was, talking like that; trusting a man he didn’t even know and offering peace to him? 

_ Funny _ .

That was just the kind of man his uncle had always been. 

And so, before he knew it, he was standing in the doorway, gazing down into the gloomy spiral staircase that stretched out below him. There were torches lighting the way; chasing away shadows and casting an eerie glow about the walls. The steps were steep and made of thick stone, and to fall from them at this height would be fatal. Fleeing down them…well…even he knew how dangerous that might be, and just briefly, Kagami entertained the notion of letting Susa descend before him. On precarious steps like these it would take only a small nudge to send even a grown man careening over the edge to his death. He’d crack open on the stones easy enough, and it would be little skin off Kagami’s nose to steal his sword and armour and... 

No. 

He wasn’t going to kill him. Maybe, if he’d had but a little less of his uncle, and a little more of Kirisaki Daiichi in him, but he didn’t, and wasn’t about to take his freedom as the cost of becoming like them. From what he’d seen of Susa, he was strong, and honest, and a good captain to his men, and somewhere in his mind there was a hazy memory of him hauling Kagami to his feet when he wasn’t strong enough to lift himself. 

And even after Kirisaki Daiichi, maybe things like that still meant something to him 

So, instead of running, Kagami waited. The grimace he was wearing showed his true feelings, but he waited nonetheless. Susa nodded, just once, and for the most part his face remained as impassive as it ever was, but just briefly there was a crinkle to his eyes that gave his expression warmth; like he was trying to disguise a smile. And despite himself, Kagami let him come closer; let him reach out a hand and lay it on his shoulder with a grip too firm to mean nothing, but too gentle to harbour ill will. 

“I’ll be right here,” he said. Whether it was meant to unnerve or reassure him, Kagami didn’t know, but out of nowhere a dusty kind of nostalgia settled over him –the memory of being a child of no more than seven; a quiver of arrows on one shoulder, and a heavy hand –the kind that was made for both peace and war –on his other, and his uncle; his honest, kind uncle, looking down and smiling like he was proud of him. 

But he shook it off –both the memory, and Susa’s hand –because that was then, and this was now, and he had an audience with a king.

 

* * *

It was different, seeing Touou like this. Being dragged in chains, or largely unconscious, or sprinting along with guards breathing down his neck never really left much time to get a good look at the castle on the whole. Truthfully, Kagami hadn’t been all that interested –all castles were the same to him –and he’d been enjoying the sun on his face too much to pay much attention, but even he couldn’t help but notice that it was maybe a kind of impressive.

It was bigger than he remembered his uncle’s being –bigger even than Kirisaki, with walls and columns that reached high, and intricate tapestries and sculptures lining almost every corridor. Overkill, maybe, but impressive nonetheless. 

Susa took them by quieter corridors with an even stride, letting Kagami walk a few paces in front; head always twisting and turning to drink in what lay around him. It was refreshing to see him look like a young prince turned guest of a neighbouring kingdom for a change.

“Kagami,” he called out as his charge wandered on just a little too far ahead. Kagami paused in his stride for half a beat and then stubbornly continued walking. Susa sighed to himself but didn’t protest. It seemed that when it came to dealing with him he had to be prepared to give a mile every time Kagami took an inch. 

“It should go without saying,” he continued, hoping that he was at the very least listening, “But when you meet with His Majesty you should afford him and his daughter the same respects you would offer to any other king…More, perhaps, considering your history,” he added dryly, and Kagami snorted like that was the understatement of the century. But that was about as good as he was going to get.

He hoped Imayoshi knew what he was getting himself into.

 

* * *

 

One of the most unnerving things about his daughter was how much like her father she could be when she put her mind to it. 

(Truth be told, it was a trait neither of them were entirely fond of, though for largely different reasons). 

So when Imayoshi glanced up from his tea to find her analysing him with the same cool eyes that he used on others to pick apart their thoughts and break down their resolve, well, he was equal parts proud and amused. Mostly because he had years of practice over her and was blessed (or otherwise) with an infinitely more devious nature. 

“What is it, sweet daughter?” he tittered innocently, smiling pleasantly as she regarded him with utmost suspicion. “…You look troubled.” 

“Should I be?” she shot back stiffly, “Or are you going to tell me what you’re really up to?” 

“Why must I always be up to something?” Imayoshi sighed melodramatically, politely aghast at the accusation –as warranted as it might be, “Really, Satsuki, it’s impolite to accuse people of such things.” 

Predictably, she didn’t buy his charade for a moment. 

“Mother used to say you were always up to something,” she sniffed, reaching for her water glass and shooting him a look over the rim. 

“I wouldn’t believe everything your mother used to say,” he snorted with a roll of his eyes, “Here I am, trying to be a good host –” A quick glance at Satsuki’s face told him that she was not in the mood to accommodate his theatrics this morning. “Oh come now,” he tutted, less playfully. His daughter could be so moody when she couldn’t figure him out. It was endearing, watching her struggle, but ultimately made her far too difficult to deal with.“I thought you’d be thrilled. I’m making an effort with the boy, aren’t I?” 

“You’re scheming,” she corrected with a soft huff, “It's not the same thing.” 

Imayoshi just smiled around his cup of tea, and said nothing.

 

* * *

Susa hadn’t needed Midorima’s curt reminder to know that he should bring Kagami to their king through the quietest and least travelled halls. He was playing placid today but there was no telling the kind of disasters that might unfold should he chance across the wrong people and Susa didn’t need a brat to tell him not to tempt fate. 

They’d been in luck. The servants had so far done well at keeping their paths clear, and to the captain’s great relief they’d encountered nothing but empty halls. 

Which made it somewhat concerning when the singing started. 

Well, it was more humming than anything; a light hearted melody popular amongst the lords and ladies of the castle. It  grew louder with every step; echoing too lightly off the high ceilings, and dancing over the balustrades to gambol in the courtyard as they passed it by. It was a pretty place; tucked away amongst the quieter corridors and always peaceful. There wasn’t a man in the castle who hadn’t asked a young lady to meet with him there, and usually the courtyard was merry with the whispers and soft laughter of lovers. 

But right now, by all accounts, the courtyard should have been empty. 

Unfortunately, that wasn’t quite the case. 

Atop the balustrades just up ahead, there was a lone figure reclining easily against a thick stone column. Enthralled by the book in his lap, he seemed blissfully unaware of them; out to the world and paying them no mind as they drew even with him.

And then, midway through turning a page, the humming stopped. 

And with the silence came a shift in the air that made the hairs on the back of Kagami’s neck prickle to life. 

All of a sudden, something felt off. Gone was the amiable, almost pleasant atmosphere that had reigned over the courtyard but a moment before; a thin tension rising in its place and setting him on edge. It was heavy, and cold, and when Kagami turned to assess the stranger in their midst –because only dangerous men had this feel about them –he found gold eyes watching him; glinting dark and dangerous.

The book snapped shut.

“Well, well, so the rumours are true,” the man mused playfully, brushing a handful of his blonde fringe back off his face as he slipped off his perch with interest –casual, yet so brazenly barring their way that it could only be intentional.“They’ve actually let the beast out of its cage.” He laughed then, like it was the darnedest thing, but there was disdain, not mirth, to the sound and it made Kagami’s expression curdle and sent his hackles rising. “…And without a leash?” 

“…What’d you say?” Kagami snarled, hands curling into fists at his sides. If it weren’t for the sudden weight of Susa’s hand on his shoulder he would’ve started forward, but the captain’s grip was tight with warning –ordering him to do nothing but endure the sly smirk sent his way. 

“My mistake,” he amended smugly, golden gaze flickering meaningfully from Kagami to the captain standing only a pace behind. Kagami liked the insinuation about as much as he liked the look of this guy. From his gleaming silver clothes to the lilt of his voice he seemed to be a lordling of sorts; fair and tall –but from what Kagami had come to know of such noble-borns, they were soft and spoilt and hid behind all the bravado that gold could buy –and this one felt different. 

This one, though not lacking in the easy arrogance of a noble, had a hardness to his face that Kagami knew the dangers of and was rather well-acquainted with himself.

The look of a man with something to prove.

_ Interesting. _

Matters of pride were certainly something that he understood. And he wasn’t one to turn away a man if he was an idiot enough to come looking for a fight. Susa seemed to know at least that much about him, and quickly cut in before the situation could escalate. 

“We don’t want trouble,” he informed him, politely yet insistently gesturing for the young man to step aside. If there was a warning hidden there somewhere, the little lord didn’t hear, or opted to ignore it, because he made no move to do as he was bid.

“Funny,” he simpered almost playfully, though there was an edge to his tone that said quite the contrary, as he nodded in Kagami’s direction, “From what my father says, that’s all he’s been after since he’s arrived.”

“ –Oi! You lookin’ for a fight, or something?” Kagami growled dangerously, edging forwards as much as Susa’s grip on him would allow. 

“Hmm? Maybe I am,” the guy replied, and although his shrug was noncommittal there was a challenging smirk twitching up at the corners of his mouth –the kind of smirk that Kagami knew he’d no doubt rather enjoy punching off his pretty face. 

“There’s no need for violence,” Susa ordered flatly, firmly wheeling Kagami away from the confrontation and sending a look of warning towards the blonde. “If you’ll excuse us, my Lord,” he added pointedly, though the title now seemed perfunctory rather than respectful, “We’re late.”

The man still didn’t step aside, but at the very least he made no move to stop them when Susa resumed ushering Kagami down the corridor. Instead, he just stood there, watching them go; hands in his pockets as though there had been nothing all that interesting about their brief encounter. 

But just when Susa thought that maybe, for once, the kid wasn’t going to channel his father, he spoke, and that hope was abruptly dashed. 

“I have to say, I’m disappointed.” 

It was an obvious challenge; the way his voice rang through the corridor so clear and loud. It was meant to steal their attention, and meant to make them stop dead in their tracks, and it did exactly that. And when Kagami flung a guarded glare back over his shoulder, the blonde was idling where they’d left him; humming to himself as he traced a pattern on the pillar closest to him. 

“I came out here expecting to see the ‘beast’ that’s been terrorising the castle,” he explained condescendingly, though he might as well have been ignoring Kagami entirely, “But I have to say, you’re hardly the monster I’ve been hearing about.”

It didn’t sound like a compliment. In fact, it sounded quite the opposite. And what he said next –like he was both laughing at, and pitying him –made Kagami’s skin crawl.

“Aominecchi’s gonna eat you alive.”

And then, almost as an afterthought, he added haughtily, voice dripping with disdain, “If you even make it past me, that is.”

Kagami’s blood warmed; the heat rising up against the other man’s ice with a vengeance. Susa’s warning grip on his shoulder tightened, but Kagami ignored it as he wheeled to face off against the brat of a noble who dared condescend to him. 

It was chilling, the expression he was wearing. 

Calculated. Proud.

…And so dangerously assured. That kind of unwavering confidence set Kagami's hackles rising, because that kind of flagrant arrogance was a luxury afforded only to the truly strong. 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you threatened to kill me,” the man chirped, in the low tone of a man with a chip on his shoulder and a score to settle. “…And maybe I could’ve forgiven that,” he hummed, sounding almost bored. Indignant, even. And suddenly Kagami was struck with a cold sense of déjà vu as those gold eyes swept over him without fear. “…But you held a knife to my throat, and embarrassed me in front of my father and the king. So I intend to return the favour.”

And suddenly things started to make sense –like why this guy felt vaguely familiar when Kagami avoided having dealings with nobles, and why he was calling him out like there was unfinished business between them. And most of all (it had bothered him at the time, but there had been more concerning matters at hand) –why the pretty, golden-haired noble he’d taken as a hostage some long nights ago, had been so unafraid of him. 

The guy seemed to see the recognition in Kagami’s face for what it was, and smiled.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Kagami Taiga,” he greeted, but the glint in his eyes contrasted sharply with the lightness of his voice, “Kise. Kise Ryouta.” 

If he’d been waiting for a reaction to his dramatic reveal, he was sorely disappointed, because not only did this information fly right over Kagami’s head, but a familiar and rather unwelcome face unfortunately chose that moment to make an appearance at the scene and completely stole his thunder. 

“…Threatening a guest?” a stony voice abruptly interjected, and Kagami was forced to bite back his own retort as Kise’s gaze shifted past him; eyes narrowing as they came to rest on the something –or someone, rather –that had chanced upon them. And when Kagami turned, too, he understood why.

(And couldn’t help but share the sentiment, because so far his own encounters with the king’s attendant had been anything but pleasant.)

“How unbecoming,” Midorima mused curtly, looking down his nose at the scene he’d walked in on and poorly masking his distaste for the parties involved. “I see your manners haven’t improved,” he added to Kise, by way of greeting. The tight smile he received in return was anything but warm. 

“Lord Midorima,” Susa greeted thinly, “To what do we owe the pleasure –” 

“ –You’re a fine one to talk about manners,” Kise shot back coolly, as though Susa hadn’t spoken. “…Can’t you see you’re interrupting?”

Midorima considered this for about two whole seconds before opting to ignore him.

“His Majesty sent me to investigate what was keeping you,” he informed Susa instead, not sounding at all pleased by the delay. “Captain, I hadn’t thought you one to be distracted by such…” He glanced deliberately over the rims of his glasses in Kise’s direction, “…Trivial things.” 

Kagami’s eyes narrowed cagily; not liking the tone the guy was taking with Susa. And he would’ve said as much, and in less pretty words, had the captain not caught the sharp look in his eye and shaken his head; barely a touch off imperceptible. 

“Of course,” Susa replied dutifully, though he sounded noticeably more strained than usual as he nudged Kagami back into motion, “Let’s go, Kagami.” Midorima gave no sign that he’d heard, or cared to hear, instead sparing one last scathing look back at the young lord Kise, standing indignant at being forgotten some paces behind them.

“…And you, Lord Kise,” he remarked reproachfully, “…Your father would not approve of your being here.” By the sounds of things, he shared the sentiment. But clearly his warning had not had the desired effect, because when he turned to leave, Kise just scoffed at his back.

“You always were so proper,” he sniffed, nose wrinkling distastefully. “Who cares if my father approves? Look at you, Lord Midorima,” he simpered, all high-and-mighty and mocking, “Always following orders.”

Clearly, it was intended as an insult, and for all his airs it obviously hit its mark, for although Midorima, stalking on ahead, neither flinched nor hesitated in his stride in the slightest, when he deigned to respond his voice had dropped below freezing. 

“I know my place, Kise,” he warned, and that was final. “You best remember yours.”

Kise’s lofty response followed them down the hallway; looking down on them as one might gaze upon a pitiful creature. And when its echo finally faded, the disquiet that took up its place lingered long after he had faded from sight. 

“ _ You never were any fun, Midorimacchi _ .”

 

* * *

 

He looked uncomfortable, the poor thing. 

No wonder –he was, after all, flanked by arguably two of the most intimidating men in all the kingdom. Captain Susa was himself an imposing presence –one had to be to have been in her father’s employ for as long as he had –and even if it had not been common knowledge that the Lord Midorima wasn’t exactly the warmest of companions, it was safe to say that he and Seirin’s young prince hadn’t had the most pleasant of encounters. 

And even if her father hadn’t seen fit to send his most formidable retainers to accompany the young man, well, he was still a lost soul in a new world filled with strangers, so it was more than understandable that he should be ill at ease. 

And if Satsuki knew her father, which, unfortunately, she did, then that would suit him just fine. He was, after all, rather partial to watching other men squirm –even more so if by his own doing. 

Now that would simply not do. Not this time, because if her father was finally going to treat Prince Kagami like a guest then a guest he would be treated as. And if there was anything Momoi Satsuki had that her father lacked in, it was a proper sense of decorum. 

“You’re late –” her father began to announce, no doubt taking a great deal of joy in the way Lord Midorima’s face pinched. He really shouldn’t tease him so –his family was old and loyal, and (one wouldn’t think it but) their eldest had once been such a gentle child. But, that was her father. Unfortunately. And if that was how he was going to behave, then she was just going to have to take matters into her own hands. Even if it involved stepping on his toes. 

“ –Welcome.” 

Satsuki knew by now that her father took some secret joy in surprising her. Not in the way that father’s usually surprised their daughters, of course, and not so secret to her eyes –so she figured it only fair that when the opportunity should arise, she was well within her rights to return the favour. 

From the look on his face he did not appreciate the interruption, which was absolutely fine by her. 

“Captain Susa, thank you,” she continued, rising to her feet with an easy elegance as she addressed their new arrivals, “…For so kindly escorting our guest.” 

“…Your Highness,” the captain replied with a dutiful dip of his head. Satsuki graced him with a gentle smile –one that turned not a little smug when she turned it on her father, and then back again to address their present company. 

“Do excuse my father,” she bid with an appropriately apologetic lilt to her voice, “He has a tendency to forget his manners.” The reproachful look she sent him was obviously received but unlikely to be taken on board, but no matter. The prince was watching her now, wary and justifiably mistrustful. “…On his behalf, allow me to finally bid you welcome, Kagami-kun.” 

It was almost insulting, her father’s subtle smirk of approval. As if she would let something like that escape her notice. 

_ He doesn’t like being called ‘Lord’.  _

“Please, sit with us.” 

Her tone was gentle –as if to not spook him –and genuine enough, but Kagami still hesitated. 

He’d never had much to do with queens –or even princesses, for that matter. Hanamiya had had no wife or daughters, and no woman of high birth whose father had any sense lingered in Kirisaki Daiichi, if they knew what was good for them. His aunt had been the only queen he’d ever known, and she had been a storm of a woman –a soldier long before she was royalty. She’d been a force to be reckoned with –fiercely loyal, and protective of her own, and with an iron will that rivalled even that of her husband. 

This princess could not be more different. 

Waiting for him at her father’s table, she didn’t look at all like the kind of woman who stood to inherit a kingdom –let alone rule one. Clothed in silk, and decorated all in gold, she looked as all noble ladies looked to him; soft, and dainty, and fair –even by noble standards –the kind of pretty prize that any warlord would pay handsomely to wear on his arm. 

Standing there, she looked so light and delicate, and with eyes so bright and trusting, that for a fleeting moment Kagami entertained the notion that it would be only so easy to whisk her off her feet and steal her away from her father. 

_ It would be so easy... _

He hadn’t said as much, and he was sure his expression had betrayed nothing, but –even though it was impossible –somehow Susa knew his thoughts, because his grip on Kagami’s shoulder tightened. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, voice so low Kagami could have sworn he’d imagined it. But spoken he had, and in a tone so harsh and full of ice that it was barely recognisable.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kagami muttered flatly, but from the way Susa’s fingers clenched infinitesimally tighter, he wasn’t buying it.

“Her Highness is sweet, and kind,” he whispered stonily, “And if you so much as lay a finger on her, you’ll spend the rest of your life praying to be back in Kirisaki Daiichi.”

Kagami’s expression darkened.

“Are you threatening me?” he growled lowly, flinging the captain a heated glare. But there was no malice in Susa’s expression. 

“No,” he whispered, more serious than Kagami had ever seen him, “I’m warning you.”

And then, almost as if nothing had transpired between them, the pressure on Kagami’s shoulder evaporated, and he found himself being gently, but undeniably firmly, nudged towards the table and the king who sat at it. 

“Now go,” he urged, the ice melting away from his voice, “They’re waiting for you.” 

All eyes in the room tracked him as he crossed the room. He could feel the guards present stiffen as he approached their king, and heard them breathe again when he sank into the seat laid out for him without event. The princess, whether by ignorance or choice, seemed not to notice the palpable tension in the air, and greeted him with a smile and an outstretched hand. 

He didn’t take it. And when he sat, he made certain that the chair legs scraped across the stone floor as obstinately, and as obnoxiously loud as possible. 

(Having taken up residence against the grandest door in the chamber, Susa let out a heavy sigh.)

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” the king remarked dryly, as soon as Kagami had settled into his seat and the grating echo of wood across stone had finally faded. He was smiling, but there was a noticeable absence of warmth that did little to curb Kagami’s obvious trepidation.

“I’m glad you decided to accept my invitation,” he continued, and at a gesture a servant materialised at his side to pour him a fresh cup of tea. Others –faceless and silent –as if responding to some cue, began pouring out from the eaves bearing plates laden with food and pitchers filled to the brim with wine. But the king ignored them as they worked; tirelessly (thanklessly) laying out the table and piling it high with food so fresh and delicious smelling that it was only moments until Kagami’s mouth is watering. Instead, he just sipped at his tea, and smiled the kind of smile that experience had taught him was worn most by the kinds of men that were not to be trusted. 

“After all,” he mused, a sly glint taking up residence in his eyes, “I would hate to think there were any hard feelings between us.”

It was a smile that was full of secrets. 

And Kagami didn’t like it one bit.

 

* * *

The servants don’t stop bringing out food until the table is piled high and the plates are practically overflowing. But, as hungry as he is, and as delicious as the food smells, Kagami refuses to eat. Men who dined with Hanamiya Makoto had a habit of keeling over not long after, and despite Susa’s reassurances that not all kings are the same, Kagami’s seen enough men die at the tables of kings to warrant caution. 

Obviously, it shows. 

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s your concern,” the king suddenly remarks, glancing up from his own breakfast; having noticed that despite his plate being full, Kagami hasn’t so much as touched it. 

Frankly, that’s exactly Kagami’s concern, and his expression says as much. 

“Poison is so outdated,” he continues –so casual that it’s anything but reassuring, “And I know I don’t speak for all men, but personally, I find it in rather poor taste to invite a man to one’s table only to kill him at it.” It's definitely not a good enough reason to trust him or his table, so Kagami makes no move to eat and gets a meaningful look in response. "There are easier ways to kill you,” the king reminds him, as though that were meant to make him feel any safer, “And even if I were inclined to have you killed, I can guarantee that my sweet daughter wouldn’t be here to watch.” 

It's a slightly better reason, and defintely not good enough, so Kagami sends a look Susa’s way; a question. The captain catches his eye and nods, and it’s infinitely more reassuring than anything the king could have offered him. 

“So eat,” Imayoshi says, observing with great interest the exchange between his delightful guest and his oldest and most faithful retainer. “Drink, too, if you desire.” And then he adds, more quietly, but still loud enough to be heard by his daughter, “...I know I do.” 

Satsuki shoots him a look of warning, and he makes sure to receive it with a smile.

It’s always unpleasant starting a meal on the wrong note –and it could be argued that trying to convince a guest that his bread isn’t poisoned was somewhat the definition of such –but even once they’d moved past said unpleasantries, breakfast didn’t exactly get any less awkward. Kagami ate, reluctantly, but the wine he left untouched. Probably a wise choice, in Imayoshi’s professional opinion –it was well documented; the things wine did to a man –not to mention anyone would have an aversion to the stuff after nearly drowning in it.

Satsuki –bless her –tries. She’s still suspicious that he’s up to something and sends him looks every now and then to remind him of such, but between veiled glares she’s smiling at their guest; saying how it’s so nice to finally meet with him, and lamenting that they hadn’t sooner. 

It makes for quite good sport, especially considering that Kagami is having none of it. 

She’s undaunted though, and persists, almost as though to spite her father. 

He’s almost proud. 

Eventually, though, and much sooner than anticipated, Kagami had had just about enough of the fruitless small talk. He’d played along marvellously for a time –gritting his teeth and bearing his daughter’s inane chatter –but there was obvious malcontent boiling below the surface, and it was only a matter of time before it bubbled over. 

“What am I doing here.” It was an accusation, and came punctuated with an aggrieved clatter of his plate as he pushed it away from himself; having had just about enough of playing along with whatever game he thought they were playing. Satsuki jumped a little at the sound, but Imayoshi merely met Kagami’s stormy red eyes across the table with a polished air of innocence. 

“What are you doing here?” he repeated back, as though bemused by the question, “I thought you might like a change, is all.”

“Bullshit,” Kagami declared, slamming a fist down on the tabletop, and if Imayoshi hadn't known any better, he could’ve sworn he heard Susa groan. “Up until now you’ve been happy to let me rot in that tower –” 

“I take it then, that your accommodations have not been to your liking,” Imayoshi interrupted smoothly, unruffled by the display of force. 

“...You could say that.” 

“A shame,” he remarked forlornly, gazing down into his tea. The silence was loaded with heat, but it was clear that his response was one that Kagami hadn’t anticipated. “Is it that it’s too warm?” he simpered, commending himself for how genuine he managed to sound. But when he glanced over at Kagami to gauge his reaction, his eyes were sharp, and cold. “Too dry? Too bright?” 

“Father...” Satsuki hushes, but he ignores her. 

“Do you not like being able to see the sky?” he persisted, “Or is it that the cells at Kirisaki Daiichi were more to your tastes?”

It’s so satisfying, forcing men to hold their tongues. And when Kagami’s jaw clenches, Imayoshi’s grin morphs to a leer. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

Satsuki disapproves; he can tell, but it’s not enough to ruin his breakfast.

“Let me tell you, Kagami,” he began again as he perused his plate; lighter, and more cordial this time, “There are men in this castle –powerful men, mind –that would like nothing more than to see you thrown into our darkest, deepest dungeons in shackles. Now, I’d rather like to avoid such unpleasantries, but I must say; you are making it rather difficult.”

“Good.” 

It’s overwhelming, the urge to roll his eyes. Belligerence and stupidity are not known to be the most coveted of gifts, and it’s a wonder a man with unhealthily high doses of both managed to survive Hanamiya Makoto –a man with a dangerously low tolerance for such things. 

“I’m sure my guards wouldn't agree,” Imayoshi remarked reproachfully, “Frankly, you’ve been making them look rather bad.”

Kagami looked unrepentant. 

“Not my fault,” he shrugged, “They were in my way.”

“ –Which is where exactly, hmm?” Imayoshi inquired curtly. And to the sharp eyes of his daughter, his grin widened infinitesimally. “...If you don’t mind me asking?” 

There’s a dangerous look in his eyes now –the kind he always gets when he’s got a man exactly where he wants him. 

“Kagami,” he says, and his smile is wicked and sly, “All the guards in the world aside, beyond the city is a land you don’t know. And beyond that is another, and another. And somewhere out there is Kirisaki Daiichi. No matter where you go, my men would hunt you, and believe me when I say that there is nowhere you could run, where they would not find you.” 

It sounds so cruel, when he says such things, but Satsuki knows that for once, her father speaks the truth. Beyond their city the plains lie so open and vast that any man on foot would be run down by pursuers on horseback. And even if by some miracle he did make it into the forests beyond, only death awaited him. The forest was thick and treacherous for those who didn’t know its roads and its secrets. A single man, wandering lost, and aimless, didn’t stand a chance against a forest that had swallowed up entire armies.

“So, I ask you again. Even if you were to escape these walls; where would you go?” 

The silence that follows hangs hollow, and her father waits, almost curiously, for his response. 

But, as much as he so obviously hates to admit it, Kagami has no answer for him. 

And, like he’d known, Imayoshi smiled. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

Kagami’s knuckles, pressed into the table, turn white. There’s a tightness to his jaw and his shoulders that’s making the captain and the other guards look decidedly nervous, but her father doesn’t look in the least bit perturbed by the palpable tension.

In fact, he seems to be relishing it. 

“There’s nothing for you out there,” he says, like it’s that simple. 

“There’s nothing for me in here!” Kagami shoots back, with such vehemence that Satsuki is startled to find herself wondering if maybe he’s right. Some forces in the world are not meant to be tamed, and there is a fire burning bright and fierce in his eyes that it seems all too much of a shame to smother. That kind of spirit needs to roam free, else it withers and grows cold, and leaves only a husk; a shadow of what life it once was before. 

Her father doesn’t see it. And if he does, then he has no qualms with letting it fade. 

(He’s done it before.) 

“Oh, but you’re so wrong,” he sighs, savouring his tea and shaking his head at Kagami’s wilful ignorance. “You could have a good life here,” he explained, “Maybe not a good one. Maybe not the one you want. But a life –and that’s more than Hanamiya ever offered you.” 

“ –And be locked up in a tower for the rest of my life?” Kagami scoffed flatly, “No thanks. I’ll take my chances.” 

“Dangerous words,” her father chuckled, but there was little mirth to be found in his expression. “I’d be careful uttering them.” Satsuki was inclined to agree. Seldom did it bode well for a man who spurned the goodwill of a king. But, he remained nonplussed by their guest’s continued hostility, and shrugged away the thinly veiled venom he’d let slip into his voice. 

“Surely you understand my position,” he reasoned, “You really left me with no other alternative. What kind of king would I be if couldn’t keep the peace in my own castle?” 

For once, Kagami had the sense to hold his tongue. 

“Besides," her father adds, and a wicked glint in his eye belies the innocence in his voice, "I wouldn’t have to have you under lock and key if I didn’t think you would run.”

Satsuki shoots him a sharp look that goes ignored, but Kagami must not hear what she's heard because that wilful iron in his eyes is back with a vengeance.

"But I will run." 

Imayoshi's eyes sharpen. 

"Where?" 

The entire room waits, with bated breath, as Kagami grits his teeth. They're not close enough to see, and no one else would care to look, but Satsuki can see it in his eyes that this time, Kagami has an answer for him.

It reads like longing -deep seated, and wretched. And even though she can see it, written clearly in his features, it still breaks her heart to hear it. 

"Home." 

It's an answer that brings disquiet to the hall. But it's as if her father doesn't sense the tension in the air.

“Kagami,” he says, in the tone of a man about to break some bad news to a child, “You don’t have a home.”

“Father!” Sometimes it truly horrified her how unkind her father could be. 

“It’s the truth, Satsuki," he shoots back sharply; clearly unrepentant as he stares Kagami and lays the truth bare for him. "Seirin lies in ruins; its people scattered through the wild, and its king trying to salvage what little is left of a broken kingdom. Even if you were to run, believe me when I say there is nothing for you to go back to.” 

He pauses for dramatic effect. "...No  _ one _ for you to go back to." 

Kagami's jaw tightens at his words, and Imayoshi smiles.

Satsuki, for what must be the thousandth time in her life, wonders what her father's game is -because no matter what he tried to claim, this was definitely one of his little games. It was inelegant, but not necessarily beneath him; tormenting an already tormented young mind for sport -but her mother had always warned her that her father was a man who was always up to something, and she had the feeling that he had some greater motive than to make Kagami squirm. 

"Did you really think it would be as simple as running for your uncle?" Imayoshi scoffed, picking at his food to hide his smirk. And despite Kagami's stony expression;  the mention of Kiyoshi made his expression waver, ever so slightly. 

"My men could chase you to the end of the earth and you would still never find him." Her father says it like it's the truth, and turns to her for confirmation. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Satsuki, but I believe Kiyoshi Teppei has all but vanished?" 

As much as she hates to admit it, he's not wrong, and knows it. 

“...Yes, father," she murmurs, hushed. "No one’s seen him in years.” 

Satisfied with her answer, he turned back to Kagami with his grin stretched wide, and smug. 

“You hear that?" he tittered pleasantly, "No one’s seen him in years....Not his wife, not the allies who forgot him...not the man who has pursued him to the ends of the earth since the day his kingdom fell." With each word his voice grew colder, and laced with scorn. "And you think you could find him?" he snorted, grey eyes flashing, "You think you could do what an army fuelled by the hatred of Hanamiya Makoto has failed to do in a decade?"

He paints quite a bleak picture. 

(Personally, he finds it rather beautiful.)

“No," he answered for him, "You’ll never find him.

But I can.” 

If the room hadn't already been silent, his comment would have rendered them completely speechless. None more so than Kagami. 

"What," he whispered after a long moment of silence, like he wasn't sure he'd heard right. Even Satsuki paused with her fork partway to her mouth in shock. But Imayoshi wasn't obliging enough to repeat himself, and simply smiles, as if to say  _ you heard me _ . 

And, for the first time, Kagami’s expression really changes. 

There’s torment in his eyes –part of him knew with all his heart that kings lie as easy as breathing, and shouldn't to be trusted, but hope is a fire that burns hot and enduring when it’s lit, and in the end it’s that hope that wins out. 

“You can find him?” he breathed, fists clenched tight upon the table. 

Imayoshi smirked.

“I can.” 

Satsuki can't believe what she's hearing. 

"Father," she whispered, eyes wide; unsure whether her father knows what exactly he's offering --what he's offering to do. "...What are you saying?" 

He's smiling. It makes the room seem darker, and colder. 

"Our guest wants his uncle," he says simply, but there's a mocking lilt to it; the voice of a man who has another right where he wants him. "And I have the resources to make that happen." 

She stares; stunned into silence, and the whole room stares with her. 

What he's promising; it's everything Kagami could ever want.

And he knows it. 

They both know it.

And suddenly, too late, Satsuki understands the game her father had been playing. She's not the only one; the light behind Kagami's eyes is gone in an instant; the hope that had burned so bright and innocent hardening into something cold and ugly. He sees it too, now, and the tightness in his jaw tells of the ways he's cursing himself for his weakness, because he's seen how kings lie. He should have known; should have remembered, that the favors of a king, are not without their price.

The cold silence lingered -the breathless, lifeless kind of silence; one of disbelief, and outrage --until finally, it seemed Midorima could hold his tongue no longer. 

"Your Majesty -" he protested, his sharp voice shattering the spell their king had cast upon the room, and although that was all his king permitted him to utter, with just those words he managed to make his disapproval quite clear. 

" -Susa is too good a captain to waste babysitting," Imayoshi interrupted, just as sharply, and with eyes that flashed a dangerous shade of grey. "I'd hate for him to have to keep doing so. Which, without our dear guest's cooperation, he would," he elaborated simply, tea rising to his lips with a roll of his eyes. "...Wakamatsu seems to have his hands full keeping track of even one wayward prince. I imagine he'd have a rather impossible time with two." 

Midorima was obviously not placated by his words, but remained silent. There were times when Imayoshi would suffer his council, and his sharp words, but he had made it abundantly clear that this was not one of them. 

This was a deal, and one he intended to see through. Kagami knew the terms, and they were good ones. 

_ Make things easy for me _ , was the request.  _ And I'll make things easy for you _ . 

And his daughter knew, that it was a deal that Kagami would take. He'd resent it, and the man who'd offered it to him, forever, but he'd take it. Sometimes, even the best of men will sell their soul for the right price, and Imayoshi Shouichi was in the business of knowing that price. Men like her father preyed on men like Kagami Taiga; those who have lost everything and would give the world for even a chance that they could win it all back. 

"Think it over," Imayoshi advised casually -almost as if to no one in particular -as he set about filling his plate. He was the only one to do so; Satsuki had ceased even making a show of picking at her food, appetite evaporated. And Kagami, fuming in silence with hands clenched in his lap to hide the shaking whites of his knuckles, chose not to eat another bite. 

"I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement."

 

* * *

Everyone looked so tense. Uncomfortable, even, a few of them. 

Imayoshi couldn't, for the life of them, fathom why. It was a beautiful morning, the food was particularly excellent, and he had just made the most hated man in his castle a peace offering that he simply could not refuse. Because Imayoshi had not bested as many men as he had by being blind. There was something fiercely pitiful that had sparked in Kagami's eyes at the mention of Kiyoshi. It looked a lot like loyalty. 

And for all Kagami's protesting and all his complaints, and all his denial and fight, this was the one thing he'd not yet refused. 

He was stewing. 

Let him stew. There was food to be had, and wine to be drank, since the tea was gone and he'd earned himself a glass, and every minute that passed at his table was a minute he escaped Midorima's inevitable outrage. 

Interestingly, Susa did not seem to share his attendant's disapproval. Quite the opposite, in fact. Rather apt really, considering his men had been the ones to prove that Kagami Taiga could, despite popular belief, be reasoned with. 

The silence wore on, and still he said nothing. And it was in the midst of the sombre silence that the solid oak doors, at whose side Susa had been so diligently standing vigil, abruptly swung open. Its hinges creaked as it moved, and beyond it, the heavy thud of an uneven gait beat out of time against stone, carrying a familiar face -stormier than usual -into their midst. 

In short, Wakamatsu did not look like he'd had a good morning. 

"Good morning," Imayoshi remarked regardless, unsmiling. "You're late." 

Wakamatsu; dirty and unkempt, plastered with feathers, and missing his left boot, shot his captain a heated glare, and at the unspoken advice from Susa, took a deep breath and counted to three before answering. 

"Apologies, Your Majesty," he replied dutifully, but noticeably more strained than was proper. Susa could chew him out for his manners later, when his lip had stopped bleeding and he wasn't quite so covered in dirt. "It's been a rough morning." 

Somehow, it felt like the understatement of the century.

"I can see that," Imayoshi mused dryly, "...What, the local whores managed to get the better of you?" 

" -Dogs," he corrected with a thick grimace, wiping his oozing lip with the cuff of his sleeve. "They had dogs. Big ones." 

"Sounds like a delightful establishment." 

"He seemed to be enjoying himself." The distaste in Wakamatsu's voice was poorly disguised. 

"I take it you found him, then?" Imayoshi inquired. He was finding that as the years wore on this same conversation between himself and his guards had grown quire tiresome. 

"Eventually, yeah." 

"Did you bring him?" he prompted, because all-too often Wakamatsu had been sent a-hunting, only to return to him empty-handed with news that he'd found his quarry but had been unable to actually retrieve him. But before Wakamatsu had the chance to reply, one came for him; a deep, powerful drawl that ambled in with an easy authority and echoed through the vast hall like the dominant rumble of thunder. In their seats, Kagami and Satsuki stiffened, for undoubtedly wildly different reasons. 

"Oi, Imayoshi," came the slow thrum; irritated. Bored. "What's all this about?" And lo and behold, there was his nephew, dressed, if not properly; yet still somehow looking a sight better than Wakamatsu. 

"--Aomine-kun??" Satsuki exclaimed in surprise, turning to her father for explanation. She got none, and Kagami's greeting was decidedly less pleasant.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" he exploded, chair grinding across stone angry and indignant as he leapt to his feet as soon as he realised who had just joined them. Both Susa and Midorima flinched, more at the cursing than the display of aggression, but for the most part his outburst went ignored. 

It was rather unfortunate, Imayoshi sighed inwardly for the umpteenth time, how easy Aomine was to hate. 

Not that it mattered. 

“Ahh, my dear nephew," he remarked; the smile he painted on for the benefit of his audience quite unnecessary. "I’m so pleased you’ve managed to drag yourself out of whatever hovel you’ve been hiding in." Aomine's expression remained impassive. It wasn't any unkindness he hadn't heard before. "I hear you've caused Wakamatsu some trouble.”

There was nothing in his nephew's face; it was well known that there was no love lost between himself and the guard who dogged his footsteps, yet such news gave him no joy. But there was no remorse either. Aomine just gazed back at him with blank, dull eyes, and shrugged. 

"I wasn't the one who put the dogs on him," was all he had to say for himself, and, either ignoring or oblivious to the place laid out for him at the table, began helping himself to whatever had as yet gone uneaten. Much of it was cold now, but it didn't seem to bother him. 

"...Won't...won't you sit with us, Aomine-kun?" Satsuki tried, but he didn't so much as look up as he picked at bread and meats and stacked his plate high with his fingers.

Instead, chewing on a grape, he jerked his head across the table to where Kagami stood, stiff and fuming like a dog backed into a corner, and asked Imayoshi, "What's with him? Thought you had him locked up." 

"I did," he replied casually, "In your old room, in fact." 

In the midst of his scavenging, Aomine paused. Only for a moment, mind, and he didn't even seem to realise he had; so fleeting that only the sharpest of eyes would have caught it. So of course, Imayoshi saw it, and smiled. 

"He doesn't like it," he offered, making conversation. 

"...Big surprise." 

"Sit down, why don't you?" he continued, ignoring his nephew's deliberate belligerence as he'd been doing for many years now. "...Both of you," he added meaningfully, sending Kagami a sidelong glance. One that Kagami did not take kindly to.

"Not until I know what the fuck -" Midorima took in a sharp breath, and Susa let out a resigned sigh as Kagami jabbed a finger at the man grazing across the table from him, "- He's doing here." 

Imayoshi sighed. 

"He is here, because I invited him," he explained painstakingly. "Aren't you at all interested in the man you're going to marry?" 

Whether he was speaking to Aomine or Kagami, it didn't matter; the answer was a resounding  _ no _ . 

(Kagami's answer was far less polite, and Imayoshi had to give the man some credit; he hadn't seen Midorima bent so out of shape in quite some time.) 

"Give it up, Imayoshi," Aomine snorted flatly; the voice of a child used to hearing empty threats, "It's never gonna happen." 

"Oh?" Imayoshi remarked, feigning innocence, "What makes you say that?" 

"It never does," he explained, because it was that simple, and Imayoshi grimaced at the unfortunate truth of it. 

"...And whose fault is that?" 

Aomine shrugged, and kept eating. 

"Father, this was obviously a mistake," Satsuki whispered to her father. She was clearly distressed -and nervous, from the way she was glancing from Kagami to her cousin, and back again. That really wouldn't do. Princesses -especially those who would be queen someday, should never be so obvious. 

"Nonsense, Satsuki. I think this is going quite well."

 

* * *

The king had asked him to sit, but Kagami didn't. He could feel Midorima's green eyes boring into him; ordering him to obey, but he didn't. He'd been lulled into a false sense of security by the king's pretty words and pretty promises, but ever since he'd heard that voice again, he'd been wound tightly on edge. He couldn't help it. There was something about it that he didn't like --the hollow edge to it, maybe; the arrogant lilt that was impossible to miss. 

The kind of voice that belonged to a man who was used to getting his way. 

He knew the voice; couldn't mistake it, but somehow, this man --the one strolling up and down the length of the table to the great discomfort of his family and the guards present --didn't seem all too much like the man who had, not so long ago, managed to make his skin crawl in the corridor with one look. 

And yet, looking at him, Kagami still seethed, and his skin still crawled. It itched, the way it did when he squared up for a fight. The way he felt was the way that Kise had felt, but different. 

Dangerous.

Even more so than Kise.

And it was like the room could feel it. The effect he had on its occupants was alarming --the guards were tenser, and some of the cheeriness had melted from the princess' face. Aomine Daiki carried himself like he owned the air he breathed; his presence filling the room with a heavy shadow. He wasn't armed, and he seemed indifferent to the proceedings, but for some reason when he looked at him, Kagami felt ill at ease. 

He hated the way those eyes had looked at him before --hungry with the kind of blind desire that turns men into beasts --but this was just as unsettling.

It felt like the mountains before a storm. Not calm, but empty. 

"...Aomine-kun," the princess murmured, watching her cousin roam around the table with sad eyes, "...Please." At her voice he glanced up, just briefly, and appeared to consider her request long and hard before finally slouching down into a chair. Not the one laid out for him, and at the far end of the table, but in their company at least, and when he glanced up with a narrow glare as if to say  _ happy now? _ the smile he got in return was sad, and he stopped looking. 

Instead, he finally turned his attention to Kagami. 

"What's his problem?" he drawled, digging into his food with his hands and jerking a messy thumb in Kagami's direction; a dismissive gesture that Kagami didn't take kindly to.  

"It seems he's taken an immense and completely founded disliking to you," Imayoshi explained flippantly, "I can't say I blame him. Dogs have better table manners." He swilled his wine and ignored the wounded look his daughter sent him. "Better trained, too." Irritation flashed through the stone in Aomine's eyes as he raised them to meet Imayoshi's. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you." 

It wasn't even a question. It wasn't like Imayoshi had ever pretended otherwise. 

"Very much so." 

Aomine scoffed around his mouthful and shoved another piece of meat into the side of his mouth as he nodded in Kagami's direction, "Maybe you can train him instead. Hanamiya did, didn't he?" 

"You shut your mouth," Kagami snapped, his fist coming down hard on the table with a heavy thud. It was shaking. What the fuck was this guy's problem? Who did he think he was? He didn't know shit. Hanamiya had dogs who worked for him; ones who begged for scraps at his table and obeyed him no matter how hard he beat them, but he had never been one of them. 

"You fought in the Pit for him," Aomine pointed out, like that meant anything. 

" --I didn't do it for him," he snapped back, because no one in the Pit fought for anyone but themselves. Not really. The Pit and those in it don't care who you serve. Because down in the Pit, when the walls are weeping and closing in, only the last man standing climbs out. But this guy couldn't understand that. He didn't know what it was like trying to hold back the world from crushing you.

"He wanted me dead," he continued, with fire in his eyes --that fire that even the shadows of Kirisaki Daiichi had never been able to stamp out, "But I kept winning, so he kept throwing me back." 

It shouldn't have bothered him, but it did, how little Aomine reacted; chewing slowly --contemplatively, almost --like a cow chewing cud in a field, with eyes just as vacant. 

"...It's Kagami Taiga, right?" he mused after a moment, but it sounded like his name didn't matter to him either way. 

"...Yeah." 

Again, there was silence, and suddenly, Aomine was gazing at him again, in that way that he did --like he could see right down to his skin --that way that made his blood froth and boil. 

"You a fighter, Kagami?" he asked, deep and low. More than a question, it felt like a trap, and suddenly the emptiness in those eyes felt endless and dark, and not so empty --like there was something dangerous waiting in their depths. Kagami didn't like it at all. 

"When I need to," he answered flatly, with fire in his voice and his eyes to stave off the shadows in Aomine's blue gaze, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that it was a threat. The guards shifted, edging towards their weapons; ready and alert for the first sign of an altercation. Not Aomine, though. He just licked his fingers with loud, wet smacks and amended his question, "You a _good_ fighter?" 

"I'm still here aren't I?" 

Aomine considered this answer, but it must not have been good enough, because his when he next looked up the vastness in his eyes was gone; shrunk back to the glassy pools they had once been, and his next question was blunt, and mocking. 

"...So why did you get creamed by Midorima?" 

Now, Kagami was not a man without pride, and as all men know, wounded pride is not quick to heal. This in particular, was a wound that still smarted, and Aomine had just gone and pressed a hot iron to it. 

"I did not get _creamed_ ," he growled heatedly, jabbing a finger down the table at the accusation. 

"Hah?" Aomine snorted vacantly, chewing obnoxiously on a mouthful, "Not what I heard." He wiped the back of his mouth with his sleeve and leaned back in his chair enough to stick his feet up on the table. "...I heard they had to scrape you off the floor." 

He smirked, then, and Kagami had had enough. 

"Fuck you --" he snarled, kicking his chair out of the way with every intention of going over there and wiping that smug look off his face with the floor. "I'll show you who --" 

He made it about two feet before Susa materialised at his side, barring his advance. He shouldered him with intent to push past, but it seemed that Susa's roots grew deep, and no matter the fuss he made stood firm. 

" _Don't_ ," the captain warned, grip fierce on his upper arm. It hurt, and Susa knew it and seemed sorry for it, but didn't let him go. "He does this," he explained for his prince, knowing it was no excuse, but it was the only explanation he had, "Just don't --" 

" --There's a reason I made it out of the Pit, _Aomine_. Wanna find out what that is?" 

"...Antagonise him..." 

"You weren't there, Aomine-kun," the princess suddenly spoke up in Kagami's defence, surprising her cousin, her father, and Kagami most of all. "It wasn't a fair fight. He was outnumbered --and Lord Kise's guards..." 

"He still lost." 

Kagami gritted his teeth and Susa reluctantly let him shrug off his grip. 

"So would you," he ground out, taking another step closer and promptly causing every guard in the room enough stress to lose a good five years of their lives. 

"Is that so?" Aomine snorted back dismissively, gauging his approach out of the corner of his eye. Kagami didn't like the look of him, lounging there with his boots up on the table and his shirt buttoned incorrectly enough for all the world to see what lay beneath, but Aomine obviously saw something he liked, because the smirk widened, into a different kind of dangerous. Something hungry.

Endlessly so. 

"Forget marrying him," he leered, and Kagami shuddered as his eyes tracked up the length of his body with little shame, dismantling his finery with his imagination as they went. "...How 'bout we just skip right to the good stuff?" 

It didn't take much imagination to figure out what exactly he meant by that. 

" --Aomine-kun, behave yourself," the princess scolded sharply, and the red that rose in her cheeks could have been embarrassment, or anger. 

On Kagami's face, however, it was most undeniably anger. 

This time, Susa moved just a split second too late. By the time he had Kagami wrested back to a safe distance, his heavy goblet was already clattering to the floor, and the prince was drenched red with wine. 

Nobody moved. And the only one who dared was by this time suitably restrained. He could see past Susa though; could see Aomine licking wine from the corners of his lips with an unreadable expression masking his thoughts. The goblet hadn't hit him, which was a damn shame, because Kagami had been so sure it would. He had a good arm on him, and good aim, too. But it had obviously come near enough to wash that smug look clean off his face. 

"Just try it," Kagami seethed, voice dangerously devoid of the anger that was making his shoulders shake in Susa's grasp. "I won't miss next time." 

Aomine's feet came off the table, and made no sound as they hit the floor. He stood, then, rising up out of his chair like a lithe jungle cat woken from slumber. When he waltzed into a room he slouched, but now he drew up to his full height --considerable, even among men --and surveyed Kagami with hooded, narrowed eyes. 

"...Is that a challenge?" he asked, low voice scathing; indignant --both the voice of a tyrant, and a child, denied for the first time. He towered up over the table, and a shadow rose up with him, but Kagami didn't back down. Much to Susa's dismay.

"Please," he growled in hushed tones, "Don't make it a challenge, Kagami." 

Kagami jerked violently in his grip, and the table shuddered from the force of it. If he'd been hoping for Aomine to flinch he was sorely disappointed, but the cutlery shook and the crockery chattered uneasily, and where Imayoshi deftly saved his wine from meeting the same fate as Kagami's, had done, Satsuki's teacup lost its balance and spilled. 

Imayoshi tutted at the fuss. 

"That's quite enough," he declared, as a twitchy, wide-eyed servant scuttled forward to clean up the mess. "From both of you," he added rather pointedly, to nip the inevitable game of 'he started it' in the bud. "As for not marrying him," he continued, voice taking on a sharpness that refused to be ignored, "That is simply not an option." 

The table trembled again as Kagami once again made his opinion known. This time, vegetables danced off their plates and fled to freedom across the tablecloth, leaving damp stains in their wake. It was nothing compared to the devastation of the courtyard in the aftermath of Lord Kise's affair, of course, but still a mess. Aomine just wrinkled his nose in distaste and flicked a stray pea onto the floor where it withered under Midorima's glare. 

"Tch, you really expect me to marry that?" he snorted. Yawned, then flicked another one. 

"Oi, you watch your mouth," Kagami snapped hotly. 

"Watch yours." 

"Enough." This time it was Imayoshi who caused the table to quake as he brought down his empty wine goblet with authority. "I will have no more fighting at my table," he said, too politely. He was smiling again. "Aomine; even if your father was raised in a barn, you certainly were not. So act like it. For once." 

"Father, don't..." his daughter pleaded, sounding too much like just a daughter, and not very much like a princess. But it was obvious that he had said what he had to say, and that Aomine had heard enough. It was a subtle but jarring change, the way a blank mask fell perfectly back into place over his features and shut away the darkness and the hunger that Kagami had glimpsed in his eyes; locking it away like it had never been there to begin with. 

Now, he just looked upon the room with eyes rife with contempt, and there was a disgruntled curl to his lip as he picked up his plate, still piled high, and kept filling it. For some reason this distressed the princess more than anything else. 

"Aomine-kun, please, father didn't --" 

"Yeah, Satsuki, he did." 

And that was the last word spoken on the matter. That was, in fact, the last Aomine spoke before he departed amid a silence not unlike that which he'd entered to. No one stopped him as he made to leave the table, and Wakamatsu had barely even taken a step forward to bar his way when Imayoshi waved for him to stand down. 

"Let him go," Imayoshi said, more to Aomine's back than to Wakamatsu. 

"...Your Majesty?" Wakamatsu queried, because he'd spent the better part of the morning trying to find the damn prince and get him here.

"Let him go," he repeated, and the guard obediently (yet not unbegrudgingly) stepped aside. "We're done here, anyways." 

Aomine didn't look back. 

And his uncle didn't seem to care. 

"Always such a delight," he mused flatly, obviously meaning much the opposite. He smoothed down a crease in the tablecloth and allowed himself a moment to reset his dry expression to one a little more suited to the occasion. Satsuki had never liked his smile, but his loving, late wife had once described it to him as devious, insincere, and a little unsettling, so he'd never thought to work on it. "Now, Kagami, I do believe we were talking business?" 

"...You were doing a lot of talking, that's for sure." 

"Well, I hope you were listening." 

"...I was," Kagami replied flatly, finally managing to shrug himself away from Susa now that he wasn't a threat to any of the royal family. He kept his head high as he spoke, and his voice admirably even, but there was a waver there --something in his eyes that told Imayoshi that no matter what he said next, he'd still won. 

Conflict. 

What he wanted most in this world was his home. The home that Imayoshi could bring to him, in the form of his uncle; the good, the Iron Heart --Kiyoshi Teppei.

"...And I'm saying no deal." 

_Deal_. 

"This is not a negotiation, Kagami," he explained, because men are full of pride, and those who have to swallow it need to know --need to be able to tell themselves --that they had no other option. "It's quite simple. You want your uncle. Alive. And if you do exactly as you're asked, you'll get just that." 

He didn't say what would happen if he disobeyed. It felt like a show of bad faith to promise that if he did, he would never see his uncle again. Nothing puts a damper on a deal more like consequences for breaking one. But he was fairly certain that Hanamiya had taught Kagami a thing or two about reading between the lines when it came to promises with kings. 

Kagami hesitated, and for Imayoshi, that was as good as agreement, because there in his eyes was that little flicker of hope again --the bane of all desperate men. 

All in a morning's work. 

"Midorima, arrange new quarters for our guest, will you?" he remarked conversationally, dusting his hands off with a napkin and rising from his seat. All around the room the guards respectfully stiffened to attention; Kagami was the only one who didn't react --still frozen in place by the abrupt reminder of why he was at this table in the first place...and what exactly it meant. "And Susa, speak with your men. I'm sure they'll be delighted to hear that they've been relieved of guard duty for the meantime." 

"Of course, Your Majesty," Susa assured him, dipping his head dutifully. Midorima did not accept his orders with nearly as much grace, but didn't manage more than a word of protest before Imayoshi rode over him with the ease of one who has had much practice.

"Kagami Taiga is a guest here," he reiterated for the umpteenth time. "I believe he's decided to start acting like it." He glanced down the table to Kagami, who was staring steadfastedly into the ugly mix of tea and wine that was spreading across the table in spite of the servants' best efforts to hinder it. He had nothing to say, it seemed, and that in itself spoke volumes. 

Excellent. 

"Besides," he added, dismissing the guards who were lingering in the eaves with a gentle flick of his wrist, "If he doesn't try to escape, then I'll have no need to stop him, will I?"

 

* * *

The king, it seemed, had nothing more to say to Kagami, which was just as well because the things that Kagami had to say to him were best left unsaid. If he wanted to keep his tongue, that was --which he did. 

So, instead of cursing him, he kept his silence, because there was the chance he was telling the truth --and if by chance he was, then he could find Kiyoshi. He could find him, and help him --save him and his people from exile in the wilderness. Through all the long, dark years in Kirisaki Daiichi, Kagami had longed for nothing more than home. 

Seirin; the kingdom in the mountains, was little more than a memory for him nowadays, but he still remembered it. He remembered the towering halls and the mighty storms that had tried to tear them down and failed --the winters that had laid waste to the mountainside and the springs that had brought it back to life. There was music, and family, and when he had climbed upon the slopes when his nurses had told him not to, he’d find his uncle halfway to the summit, waiting for him. He’d smile, and swear not to tell, and a young Kagami would ask him why he’d stopped climbing. And Kiyoshi would turn to look out at the world, and say,

_ “If you're climbing up a mountain, obviously you're aiming for the top. But let's enjoy the view. _ ” 

Kagami, because he was young and didn’t understand such things, would always remind him that the view was the nicest from the top, and his uncle would laugh, and he would climb with him through the forest and the brush of the highlands until Kagami got his view. 

The world had felt so big from up there. He could see their city and their castle all the kingdom of Seirin; from the forest’s rocky crags, to where the mountains turned into rolling lowlands. 

Imayoshi was right. 

It’d all be gone now. Burned to dust on Hanamiya’s orders to smoke Kiyoshi out and erase every mark he’d left on the world. 

But even if there was nothing left of it, it was still his home. And if making his peace with this place for now -- _only for now_ \--meant that maybe one day he and his uncle could stand there together again, then that was something he supposed he could do. 

“Kagami?” Susa inquired, asking without words if he was ready to leave now that the king had tired of their company. What with Aomine having taken his leave, he didn’t think Kagami too much of a threat at present, but it was concerning that he’d been poised for some few minutes at the table, staring down into the stickying wine like it might offer him council. Dealings with his king sometimes had that effect on people. Imayoshi liked getting what he wanted and was rather adept at doing so. 

But Kagami wasn’t known for losing his tongue for long, and he found it again soon enough. 

“Princess,” he called out, more to the table than to the actual princess, who had chosen to follow in her father’s footsteps and was little more than a stride away from the door. “...Your Majesty,” he tried again, a little less certain this time, and then finally, “...Whatever.” 

_ At least he tried _ , Susa sighed to himself, correcting, “Crown Princess Momoi.” 

“...Momoi,” Kagami opted for after a moment of consideration, and the captain sighed openly at his intentional rudeness. But her name stopped the princess dead in her tracks and made her turn; she appeared more surprised by being addressed directly than offended by his lack of court etiquette. 

“Kagami-kun?” she inquired curiously, gathering up her skirts and making a tentative return to the table. Whatever he had to say to her mustn’t have been for the room to hear because he waited until she was nearly even with him before he spoke again. 

“...Your old man…” he muttered, eyes darting cagily to her face and then back down at the table. “....He said he could... will he find him?” 

Susa watched the princess’ face soften, and for Kagami’s sake tried to unsee the uncertainty in her expression. 

“He’s a man of his word,” she promised him, which was kind of her to say even if Susa didn’t think she believed it herself. She was a far sight better at sincerity than her father, but unfortunately those were the wrong words to provide Kagami any sort of reassurance. 

“Sorry if I don’t believe you,” he scoffed, finally straightening up from the table and rolling his shoulders to loosen some of the tension the morning had stockpiled there. She smiled again, this time at Susa, like they were sharing some secret Kagami wasn't privy to. 

“No one does,” she replied, and he wondered if maybe deep down she knew, like he did, or at least wanted to believe that her father had the capacity to be a better man than he let on. And then firmer, she added, “But if he’s promised to find your uncle, he will.” 

To her credit, when Kagami set his gaze on her, she didn’t flinch. 

“...We should go,” Susa remarked, after an appropriate amount of time had passed for them to size one another up. The princess had never been a warrior --of her and her cousin she was the royal made more for ruling, and the courtly games of wit --and she was dwarfed by he and Kagami by a considerable margin, but somehow, when required of her, she carried herself like someone twice their size; with eyes that saw everything. The men of the court didn’t trust it, and rightly so. She was her father’s daughter, after all. 

“...You will keep your word, won’t you?” she inquired suddenly, earnest in the way only women are when they are trying to spin promises out of men, “You won’t cause my father trouble, or try to hurt anyone?” Kagami, watching her as much as she was watching him, just shrugged noncommittally and replied with a touch of heat, “...Only if they try to hurt me first.” 

For some reason that made her smile. 

“Of course,” she conceded, and then, because she probably had an inkling of who the sentiment is intended for, her smile waned again, and she bowed out of their staring contest. “...Please don’t judge him too harshly,” she murmured, brushing down her skirts to stop herself from fidgeting, “He’s not so bad, Aomine-kun.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Kagami scoffed incredulously, “The guy’s the worst. How can you stand him?” She shrugged, not taking offense. 

“He’s my cousin,” she explained simply, barely managing to hide the sadness in her eyes as she tried to find an eloquent way to voice her thoughts. “Please believe me,” she tried, before trailing off, “...He’s not always…. He didn’t used to…” And then finally; gently,  “I’m sorry, Kagami-kun. For what he said.” 

“...I’m not,” Kagami deadpanned flatly, “Next time I’ll punch his lights out.” There was no doubt that that was a genuine threat, but instead of giving concern for her cousin’s wellbeing, it brought a small smile back to her lips. 

"He has that effect on people," she sighed; long-suffering, but not without fondness. And then, quiet enough that maybe no one was meant to hear, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.” 

It was a good thing that Kagami seemed not to have heard because Susa was fairly certain that he’d have a couple of colourful suggestions for her. An instant later, as if suddenly realising she’d said too much, the melancholy had vanished from her expression, and her pink eyes were as bright and clear as a proper lady’s were always meant to be. 

“Well, Captain, I best not keep you,” she tittered, inclining her head to him, and then Wakamatsu who had lingered where many of the other guards had departed with her father. Her smile was soft, and genuine, and knowing, and for a second, Susa was struck by the uncanny resemblance to her father. “I’m sure you have much to show Kagami-kun. Ours is a big city after all; I’m sure he’ll find something to his liking.” 

“I have a few ideas, Your Highness,” Susa replied, just as cryptically.  

“Excellent. Father will be pleased.” 

The corners of Susa’s lips twitched up at the corners as she turned to take her leave once more. 

“My men too, Your Highness.” 

“--What did she mean by that?” Kagami demanded, the instant the princess had swept from the room. 

“Exactly what she said,” Susa replied stoically, beckoning for Wakamatsu to approach. Kagami watched him carefully out of the corner of one eye, and made little attempt to hide a snort as the soldier limped forward with a trail of dirt and wafting feathers in his wake. “...After all,” he added, the corners of his lips creeping infinitesimally higher. “...It would be a shame for you to suddenly want to stay holed up in your room now that the locks are gone.” 

“Yeah, after all the fuckin’ fuss you made about being locked up,” Wakamatsu grizzled; wrinkling his nose at a disapproving look from his Captain. “What? It’s true,” he snorted defensively, before suddenly becoming very wary of Susa and his motives for holding him back. “And  _ no -- _ before you go  _ gettin’ any ideas _ , the answer’s  _ no _ . I know that look -- _ no.  _ Imayoshi just said --you heard him, right?? We are  _ off duty _ , Susa. I am not babysittin’ this kid anymore!” 

“Oi, I’m not a kid. And I’m standing  _ right here _ .” 

“I’m not ordering you to  _ guard _ him,” Susa corrected patiently, “I’m  _ asking  _ you, to keep him out of trouble.”  

“Sounds a lot like guard duty to me,” Wakamatsu muttered under his breath. 

“Yeah,” Kagami grumbled accusingly. 

“You’re not his prisoner,” Susa soothed, “But it’s easy to get lost here. Show him around would you, Wakamatsu. Like Her Highness said, I’m sure he’ll find something to keep him occupied. Or _somewhere_.” 

For once, his meaning wasn’t lost on Wakamatsu. It took its time getting there; cogs whirring as they turned, but when the message got through the soldier’s disgruntled scowl cracked into a broad, wicked grin. 

“I know just the place, Captain.” 

The pure glee in Wakamatsu’s face was a little concerning but Susa decided to let it slide this once. 

“...Don’t go causing trouble,” he reminded him as Wakamatsu let out a hearty bark of laughter and beat his fist against the butt of his sword in what could only be described as the kind of excitement a man gets just before dumping a bucket of cold water on his unsuspecting friend. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Wakamatsu snickered, sauntering over to Kagami with a fresh perspective of his new assignment, “Gods know I can’t wait to see the look on Tsugawa’s dumb mug….”

It was strange thing to see, really; touching, even, and not seen nearly often enough; a soldier stalking up to the same man --his once prisoner --who’d he’d wrested to the ground more times than he could count --and doing so without fear, (and more impressively) without malice or hatred in his heart, and, with a daring grin on his face, offering him his hand. 

“Whaddaya say, Kagami? Wanna go beat up some guards?” 

 

* * *

“Father!” 

Well, he’d managed to make it down almost two full corridors before she’d managed to catch him. A pity. One more and he’d have managed to elude her until lunch. Or at least until one of the servants sold him out. He wasn’t an idiot; the walls in Touou had ears and eyes everywhere for reasons; some of them good and some of them less so.  

“Oh, good,” he remarked sarcastically to Midorima and kept walking. Unfortunately, so did his daughter; she had at some point developed a rather swift stride in the event that he wanted to avoid her. “We should have walked faster.” 

“Father, I know you can hear me.” 

_ Wilful  _ wasn’t one of his preferred traits in a woman, and unfortunately one that Satsuki had inherited from her mother. It made her considerably more stubborn than he might’ve liked. 

“Hmm, unfortunately,” he sighed, resigning himself to his fate and slowing to a halt. “What did Kagami want?” 

“To know if you were a liar,” she huffed, glancing around hastily before unceremoniously dumping the hem of her skirts to the floor. 

“And what did you tell him?” Imayoshi inquired, feigning curiosity. 

“...That you’ll keep your promises,” she replied. “Are you going to make  _ me  _ a liar, father?” she persisted, “Do you really intend to find the Iron Heart?” 

“I do,” he assured her; turning to Midorima for a rhetorical question, “Why is everyone so surprised?” Midorima did not look in the least bit convinced. 

“But  _ father _ \--” Satsuki pressed, more insistently this time as she lowered her voice like she didn’t wish for the walls to hear, “...If even Hanamiya can’t find him --” 

“ _ \--Sweet daughter _ ,” Imayoshi countered stonily, “I know you love to compare me to that spider, but I rather hate it when you do.” There was a touch more venom in his words than he usually used with his daughter but it achieved the desired effect of stopping her doubtful little whispers dead in their tracks. 

The  _ audacity _ ; lumping him in with Hanamiya like they were in the same league of kings. 

Thankfully, Satsuki had realised that her opinion on the matter was not welcome, and seemed wounded by the knowledge. Like all daughters snapped at by their fathers, she seemed diminished somewhat, and withdrew with eyes downcast to hide the hurt. Definitely a shorter argument than he’d been anticipating, but that was never a bad thing. He waited expectantly to see if she was preparing another outburst but she seemed to have had quite enough of him for this morning, because instead of pressing the issue any further, she merely stooped; gathering up her skirts again to prepare for a huffy exit like scolded youth. 

But of course, even retreating, she still had to try and get the last word.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”  

_ (Well, that was a trait he couldn’t blame entirely on his wife.)  _

“I always do.” 

He watched her go; courteously stepped aside to deprive her the satisfaction of shouldering past, and made sure to smile at the wounded look she sent back at him. Midorima’s gaze bored into the side of his head the whole way but it was only after she was out of sight and far from earshot that he spoke. 

“She’s right,” he announced flatly, probably about as pleased to say it as Imayoshi was to hear it. “Finding Kiyoshi would be…”  

“I’ll find him,” Imayoshi said stonily, sending his attendant a cool sidelong glance. And then, because sometimes even the subordinates whom he allowed to speak most freely needed to be reminded of their place, “...And I’ll thank you to stop questioning me.” 

Midorima’s lips thinned as he dropped into step with him, and it was with definite strain that he replied, “...Of course, Your Majesty.” And for a few blessed strides he kept his silence. “But…” Imayoshi sighed and rolled his eyes, but let him continue. “...Assuming you even  _ find  _ Kiyoshi, what then? He’ll want his nephew.” 

“...And Kagami will want to go to him,” Imayoshi continued lightly, “An astute observation.” 

“And you just intend to tell him where to find him?” 

Midorima’s apprehension was understandable. He knew as well as Imayoshi did that should Kagami learn his uncle’s whereabouts, all bets --all deals --were off. No guards, walls, or threats could deter him. If he knew where to find him, he’d go. No matter where, and no matter what it took, he’d run again. He would move the earth itself to get there. 

Which wouldn’t do at all. 

“ _ Of course _ ,” Imayoshi replied flippantly. Too flippantly, probably, because Midorima seemed to catch the sly, too-innocent lilt to his voice, “But you know how difficult these things can be; especially when it comes to finding a man who doesn’t want to be found. They take time. They take men…” He trailed off, his lips curling up into a wide, wicked smile.

“...And messages do get lost... _ so easily _ these days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who picked this up again after so long! For those who are still keen to read on, I hope it won't take so long for the next chapter to appear. As always, reviews are always appreciated!
> 
> Much love, and thank you again for your continued support!!
> 
> xx K


End file.
